


Dust and Gold

by blackwatchandromeda



Series: The Dual Nature of the Universe (Overwatch) [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Jesse McCree, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Jesse McCree, Canon Compliant, Canon Era, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dad Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Deadlock McCree, F/F, F/M, Fall of Overwatch, Family, Fluff, Gabe Being Sassy, General Overwatch Conspiracy Theories, Jesse McCree & Genji Shimada Are Best Friends, Justice Siblings, M/M, McCree-centric, Minor Original Character(s), Mom Ana Amari, Null Sector, Omnic Crisis, Overwatch - Freeform, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Uprising
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2018-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-16 10:03:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 51,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10569027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwatchandromeda/pseuds/blackwatchandromeda
Summary: Jesse McCree is in deep shit.He's gotten out of bad situations before, but none of them really compare to what's happening now. Nobody in Deadlock was expecting the sudden, brutal attack by a shadow division of Overwatch, but it happened anyway, and Jesse got caught. He's now a prisoner inside the organisation.And completely at the mercy of one Gabriel Reyes.





	1. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone and welcome to dust and gold! it's a blackwatch mccree-focused story with dad!gabe and background reaper76.
> 
> i'd like to reference overgosh on tumblr real quick; they've done an amazing job collating all the lore blizzard gives us into a fantastic timeline which i'm using to help keep track of all the events. thank you so much!
> 
> this is my first proper fanfic so i adore any and all feedback, and i'd like to say a quick thanks for giving it a go. i hope you enjoy!

ea

Copper.

It's his first thought as he awakes, mind foggy and disorientated, left temple throbbing with pain. He can taste the coppery tang of blood in his dry mouth, and smell it too. There is no sound around him; not even the buzz of electrical equipment, or the faint noise of footsteps. His eyes crack open slowly, and he's surprised to see his surroundings are pitch-black, lightless, except for the tiny circle of illumination around him, barely enough to light up his body. He looks down, scowling as he takes in his dust-covered clothing, the scarlet-gold serape around his neck stained with sand. His hat is gone. There's a snowy-white bandage wrapped tightly around his right thigh, and the centre is stained with crimson, very gradually spreading outwards. The belt that's slung around his hip and the holster attached to it are still there, but he's no longer in possession of his slightly-scuffed six-shooter. He curses as he notices its absence, and swears again when he tries to reach for the holster and finds that his wrists are bound to the back of the metal chair he's sitting on. He jerks his body, trying to twist out of his restraints, but they're not old, fraying rope, not the type of bindings he knows how to escape. They're more like straps, made of strong, thick leather. More sensation comes back to him as the fog begins to clear from his mind, and he grits his teeth in anger as the wound on his leg starts to burn. He jerks again, pushing down with his legs and forcing his arms forward, but still his restraints don't budge. He spits out another expletive, and his scowl deepens as he sees the scarlet patch on the ivory bandage expand a couple of millimetres, the sole effect of his efforts. His gaze whips up, away from the injury, and he scans his surroundings as he squints into the darkness. He can barely make out a thing, save the faint outline of a table in front of him.

"Fuck," he mutters under his breath, breaking the silence as sudden understanding hits him like a thunderbolt. His suspicions, raised by the bindings, have been confirmed by the table: this is an interrogation room. He's never been in one himself, but he's watched a bunch of movies, and a lot of them included interrogation scenes. If he's right, there's one-way glass somewhere beyond the blackness; if he's wrong, then it's not like anyone will be able to hear his misjudgement. So he lets his head loll slightly to the side, and a smug, arrogant grin spreads slowly across his face.

"Y'all can come out now. I know you're watchin'," he drawls, letting his vowels blend together.

His words are followed by the same total silence there had been before, and for a moment he wonders if he's completely misjudged the situation. He keeps the pose, though, in case anyone shows up, wanting to show his confidence from the outset. A few more moments pass, and more doubt streaks through his mind. He's about to drop the arrogant façade when there's a clicking noise, the telltale opening of a door, and Jesse McCree's shit-eating grin widens as he hears heavy footsteps clunk towards him.

There's an irritated sigh and the sound of metal scraping on metal, and Jesse can barely discern someone moving in the shadows in front of him, presumably sitting down. He's about to make some snarky comment about the lighting when something starts humming, and then several fluorescent lights flicker to life above him. Jesse wastes no time assessing the room, his eyes sweeping around his surroundings to look for doors, windows, anything. All he sees are blank surfaces, the four bare walls around him a dark stormy-gray colour. True to his prediction, there's a one-way glass to his left, and he can see a secure-looking door just next to it, but otherwise the room is entirely devoid of exits and escapes. He frowns, and the man opposite him clears his throat.

"Eyes on me, kid."

Jesse's gaze flicks to the man sitting in front of him, the man who's currently flicking through a sheaf of beige-covered files, scrutinising each one. He doesn't deign to look up at Jesse, not even to make sure he's followed the command. He looks to be well-built, and the hands that handle the files are calloused, like he's a man used to labour, or combat. He matches the walls of the room in colour, wearing a dark hoodie and a darker beanie, and Jesse stares at his clothing for any indication of rank or organisation. He doesn't find any, though, and the only splash of colour is the pair of red tags at the end of the hoodie's strings. Red could be anything: cops, bounty hunters, hell, even a rival gang, although that's unlikely. Jesse has no idea who attacked Deadlock, and captured him. His narrowed gaze moves to the man's face, and he notices a slew of shallow scars across it. None of them are that deep, but there are a few of them. It reminds Jesse of one of his Deadlock comrades, Ricardo, a hulking man with a smattering of deep slashes across his visage. Whenever anyone dared to ask him about them, Ricardo always said he got them from a wild animal attack. He never specified which animal, or when, or where, and Jesse never believed him. He would ask when he got out of this room, but he supposes that Ricardo, along with most of Deadlock, is most likely dead.

He's snapped out of his thoughts by the dark-clad man, tossing him a brown file across the table and folding his arms. Jesse scowls, wanting to reach for it but knowing his hands are, quite literally, tied. He shoots a glare at the man, causing him to chuckle and reach for something concealed under the table. Jesse goes tense, expecting a gun, his heart hammering, and there's a robotic beep from the chair under him. He feels the tight bindings around his wrists slacken, and then loosen entirely, dropping away. Suspicion fills him and he cautiously moves one hand, half-expecting it to be somehow still held in place. He can move his hands freely, though, and he realises the restraints must be electronically controlled. The man across from him is staring expectantly, obviously waiting for him to open the file, but Jesse keeps his hands where they are. Something twitches above the man's eye, and he uncrosses his arms, gesturing briefly to the envelope on the table.

"Open it," he states, his voice low and gruff, although unthreatening.

Jesse's scowl deepens. "No."

Another twitch above the eye, and then the man's expression darkens. "Do you need a demonstration of who's in charge here? Open the goddamn file."

Jesse glares mutely at him, and his cheeks burn as he reaches for it, flipping the front cover to reveal a thin stack of documents. Bile rises in his throat as he stares at them. Pictures of bodies strewn across dusty ground, neat holes in the centres of their foreheads trickling long-dried blood, accompany photos of all-too-familiar bullets in evidence bags. He recognises every one of the identical shells, for good reason; they're the ones he'd load into his six-shooter every single day. He turns over a page, and the photos there hit him like a brick: a shot of his face, and one of the first human being he ever killed. Her face is obscured, but he can still tell from the clothing and the gunshot wound. That memory is superimposed in his mind forever, and he knows it's her. The wound in her stomach is messy, off-centre, more ragged than the other kills, and scarlet blood stains the floor underneath her. He swallows, throat suddenly dry, and the throbbing pain in his temple increases as he stares, silently horrified, at the picture of the murdered woman he thought he'd left behind.

"Jesse McCree," the man says matter-of-factly. "Member of Deadlock. Sixteen counts of first-degree murder and twenty of second-degree. Other charges include grevious bodily harm, grand theft auto, grand larceny and arms trafficking." He leans backwards in his seat, arms still crossed, and inhales through his teeth and shakes his head. "Pretty impressive rapport. Especially for a minor."

"That ain't me," Jesse says immediately, thrown off by the photos but still composed enough to follow the rules Deadlock taught him. _If you're caught, Jesse, deny everythin'. A Deadlock never squeals, ya got that?_

The man raises an eyebrow, and points to the mugshot of him. It was obviously taken recently, while he was unconscious; dust covers his face and an ugly, black bruise is starting to spread across his temple, the colour complementing the brilliant red of his bloodied mouth. "Are you saying this isn't you?"

"Yeah," Jesse says, still scowling.

"Well, it looks like you."

"The picture is me," says Jesse, lying through his teeth and hoping the man doesn't pick up on his bullshit. "I didn't kill those people, though."

The man laughs slightly, a lopsided grin spreading slowly across his features. "Don't think I'm going to fall for that horseshit, kid. See, we know these are your kills, because Deadlock uses rifles, and these are revolver bullets."

"So?"

"So, you're not the only one we've captured. And one of your other friends," he says, using the term mockingly, "told us there's only one Deadlock member who uses a revolver. A six-shooter, in fact." He taps his calloused fingers against his chin, pretending to think. "And, come to think of it, why don't you take a guess as to what kind of weapon we recovered from your person?"

Jesse curses the traitor in his mind, wishing he hadn't spoken. Wishing he'd stayed quiet, like every Deadlock is meant to do.

"What the hell d'you want?" Jesse practically snarls, balling his fists underneath the table.

The man chuckles again and leans back, flipping from relatively good to scarily calm in less than a second, and Jesse hates him for it. "I want to put all you Deadlock fuckers where the sun don't shine," he says calmly, the grin vanishing from his face, and the composure in his voice is terrifying. "Unfortunately, I need some information first."

"I ain't gonna tell you one fuckin' thing," snarls Jesse, and the twitch in the man's eye reappears.

"Look, kid, I'm assuming you think you're going to get out of here. You're a minor, we know that, but we can try you as an adult. Multiple lifetimes guaranteed. So just tell me what I need to know," he pushes, leaning forward, "and I'll get your sentence reduced."

Jesse leans into the table, matching his position, and spits a gob of blood that arcs through the air and lands directly on the man's cheek with a tiny splat that resonates through the silence.

The man's eyes almost spark with anger as he pushes his chair back, and it clatters to the ground as he stands upright, slamming his palms on the table. Fear surges through Jesse as leather tightens around his shoulders, bringing them together, and suddenly the straps move down and collide against his wrists, and they tighten in the exact position they were in before they loosened, restraining his hands once again. The man leans forward, his furious face inches away from Jesse's, and stares at him for one long second, livid gaze burning with anger.

Then, he walks out.

The click of the door closing is terrifyingly anticlimactic, and after the explosion of rage-fuelled movement from the man, Jesse is expecting something equally furious to finish. His nerves are frayed wires as he waits, on edge, for what feels like hours.

Eventually, though, whatever he's waiting for doesn't happen. He's alone in this room, blazing light focused on him and him alone, his mouth dry, his head pounding. He tries to ignore his injuries and focus on escaping, and try and look for a way out - look for anything that could help him. There's a strange fuzziness in his head, though, keeping him from thinking straight, and a feeling of exhaustion sweeps over him. He wants to close his eyes so badly, wants to pause the tension and fear racing through him, and in that moment he decides to shut them. He promises himself it's just for a second, but then he loses track of his thoughts about staying awake, and the darkness behind his eyelids sweeps him away.


	2. The Deal

Jesse is woken by raised voices, and he blearily opens his eyes to see that the fluorescent lights above him have winked on again. The throbbing in his temple has eased slightly, but the burning sensation emanating from his thigh is still there, made even more prominent by the lack of other pain to distract him. He looks down and sees that they've changed his bandage again, the crimson blotch noticeably smaller than before. The faint voices he heard increase in volume, becoming clearer, and he strains to listen.

"...cannot believe you would lock a minor up like this!" one voice yells, his tone belying his annoyance.

The response is calm, and Jesse recognises the voice of his interrogator, cool and collected. "Calm down, okay? He's being treated just the same as the others."

"He's not the same, though! He's under eighteen, Gabe," the first voice retorts, full of stress. "I'm going to deal with him myself."

"That's a bad idea and you know it." comes the second voice, slightly less calm. Jesse smirks at his semi-flustered tone. "He's a criminal, he's done the exact same shit as every other Deadlock we busted. Maybe more. You have no idea how to deal with people like him."

"What are you talking about? I'm great with children," the first replies, a touch of humour to his voice, and then Jesse hears the click of the door opening, and a man strides in, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like "irresponsible ass".

He's almost the complete, polar opposite of Jesse's original interrogator, with surprisingly golden hair that gives him a youthful look, his footsteps whispering across the floor in sharp contrast to the first's loud, clunky steps. His face is clear of scars, his eyes a bright blue, but Jesse spies streaks of white at his temples and creases around his forehead that reveal his true, older age. The biggest difference between them, though, is their clothing; while the first man wore dark, casual garments, this one is clad in a form-fitting uniform of azure and ivory, a blue coat fanning out behind him as he strides over to Jesse and pulls out the chair opposite him, sitting down and sighing. Jesse can almost feel the colour drain from his face as he stares at the insignia on the man's uniform, half-hidden by his arm but recognisable all the same. A white circle, two lines slanting from the shape's inner edge to the centre, a bar of vivid orange replacing an arc of the circle at the very top of the logo: Jesse doesn't know that much outside useful Deadlock skills and basic literacy, but even he knows what that symbol means. It's the Overwatch logo. He's inside Overwatch.

_Fuck._

"I'm so sorry about this. Are you alright? Do you need anything?" he asks suddenly, looking Jesse in the eye.

The teenager scowls. "What is this, good cop bad cop?" he says, making sure to let arrogance and rudeness leak through his tone and annoy the officer as much as he can. If he's going to be locked up in Overwatch forever, the least he can do is have some fun making people pissed first.

The Overwatch officer's face grows disbelieving, his blond eyebrows raising. "Excuse me?" he asks incredulously.

"You heard. Are you the good cop? The one that's gonna promise me shit to get me to talk?" Jesse drawls.

The man's features tighten, and he visibly sets his jaw. "No. I was the one who was going to make sure you were okay." He stands up, glaring at Jesse, and taps the table with one finger, other hand planted firmly on the tabletop. "You're going to tell me what I need to know, and then I'll think about being the good cop."

Jesse snorts. "No."

His eyebrows raise in incredulity, and he says, "Excuse me?"

"No," Jesse repeats. "I ain't tellin' you anything."

The officer looks taken aback; he clearly wasn't expecting outright refusal. "Yes, you are. I can't help you if you don't."

"What the hell makes you think I need your help?"

A brief shadow crosses the officer's face and he straightens, gesturing to their surroundings. "The fact that you're imprisoned here. And I don't see anyone else beating down the door to help you."

Jesse remains silent, though the officer is staring at him as if expecting a sudden burst of information. The situation rapidly morphs into a ridiculous sort of staring contest.

After a minute or so, though, the Overwatch officer seems to grasp the notion that Jesse's not going to talk. He lets out a long sigh, glaring at the teenager, and says, "So you're not going to help me, then? I'll have to deal with you just like the rest then, unfortunately." The statement is open-ended enough Jesse can tell he's still hoping for information, hoping his half-hearted threats will work. Jesse's not going to play along, though.

He bares his teeth. "Unfortunately," he spits, and in that split-second he stupidly decides that the idea that's just popped into his mind is not a idiotic one.

He rears back as far as the chair will allow and throws his body weight forward, leading with his forehead, and he collies with the officer's face with a loud crack. Pain splinters through his skull and he clenches his jaw, but it's worth it when the officer stumbles back, hand flying to his nose, and blood spurts from it and stains the top of his hand scarlet.

"Motherfucker!" he curses, his face full of anger, staring at his red-stained fingers, and he flicks his gaze up to glare directly at Jesse. The teenager smirks back, and the officer's eyes crackle with anger; Jesse realises then that he must have been leashing his temper this whole time. "You could have saved yourself a lot of pain by telling me what I needed to know. You just had to fight me, like a stupid little child."

"I ain't a child!" yells Jesse, straining against the chair's bindings, but his words are lost as the Overwatch officer storms out, the door clicking shut behind the sweeping blue fabric of his coat.

Jesse scowls as the silence presses in again, and his bandaged leg starts to itch. He glares at it, still restrained and unable to scratch it, wishing he could ease the prickling sensation. His gaze strays to the fluorescent lights above him as he realises they're still on, and they haven't turned off again like last time. They must be planning on doing something else with him, then; probably taking him to some godforsaken prison somewhere.

Sound reaches his ears then, just like the shouting that woke him up, and he frowns, straining his ears to make out the voices. He can hear the low, calm tone of his first interrogator contrasting with the angry inflection of the Overwatch officer.

"Didn't go too well for you, did it, Jack?" his interrogator asks, sounding smug.

The officer, who Jesse presumes is Jack, shouts back with surprising volume. "Look at my nose, Gabe! Of course it didn't fucking go well, the fucking brat broke it!" There's more that follows, but Jack's voice is dangerously quiet, and Jesse can't make out the actual words.

His interrogator snorts. "Let me handle the criminals in future, alright?"

There's no response from Jack, and Jesse is wondering where he's gone when the now-familiar click resonates through the room, and the original interrogator steps through the door, into Jesse's line of sight, holding something just behind his back. The wad of bloody spit is unsurprisingly gone from his face, and Jesse scowls as he strides towards the table, pulling out the chair and spinning it around, sitting on it with the back between his legs. What throws Jesse off is not the casual pose, but the odd expression on his face: not angry, but closer to amused.

"Don't get me wrong," he begins in a gruff voice, "I'm still pissed at you for spitting on me." A touch of humour and lightness creeps into his voice, and his dark eyes seem to dance as he continues, "But, kid, that was fucking fantastic."

Jesse's confusion must show on his face as he stares, because the man lets out a laugh and leans back.

"I always find it funny when he goes out of his comfort zone. The great Jack Morrison might be brilliant every other way, but dealing with criminals isn't his strong suit," he chuckles, not really making sense to Jesse. "And being shown up by a seventeen-year-old? Brilliant."

Jesse vaguely recognises the name. "Wait, that was-?"

"The head of Overwatch, yeah." The man stares at him, his humour ebbing away slightly to be replaced by confusion. "You don't know what he looks like? The hell, kid? Did you skip all your history lessons or something?"

Jesse scowls. "I ain't got time for school."

The man's eyes widen further. "You never went to school?"

Jesse stays quiet, glaring at the man.

"Jesus, kid," he sighs, tugging at his black beanie, "what the hell have you been doing all your life? Can you read?"

"'Course I can read," Jesse mutters. "Ma taught me." He almost loses it, thinking about her, but he manages to keep himself together, his creased scowl the only outward indication of his painful memories.

The man is silent for a moment, appraising him, and then he sighs and leans forward again, gesturing with his hands. "Look, kid, you know how this is going to end, right?"

"Right," Jesse answers reluctantly. Jail for multiple lifetimes, if he's lucky; death row if he isn't.

"What if I told you," the man says carefully, "that there's another option?"

"Then I'd call you a liar," Jesse retorts. "There ain't one." _If you're caught, Jesse, it's death or jail. They'll try and trick you, but don't believe it. If you can escape, even if there's only a tiny chance, you take it. And remember, never tell them anythin' if you can help it._

The man grins infuriatingly. "You're right. For most people, there isn't one. But this is a special scenario, and I'm offering you a way out." He stares into Jesse's eyes, and the teenager scowls back. "Join Blackwatch."

His words ring in the air around them, and Jesse is open-mouthed and silent for a minute before his expression morphs into a suspicious glare. The interrogator's intense stare doesn't change. "What the fuck is Blackwatch?"

The man lets out a long, deep sigh, and briefly closes his eyes. "A subdivision of Overwatch. We deal with threats the main division doesn't, and we handle the jobs that are too dirty for the press to know about. Covert ops, basically."

"Sorry," Jesse says, raising an eyebrow, "you even read my file?"

"I did. Extensively."

Jesse smirks. "Then you know I ain't a good guy, _hombre_."

The man shifts position, resting his arms on the back of his seat and tilting his head slightly. "No, you're not. But you have the potential to be. With your shooting skills and your obvious audacity, I think you could do great things."

"Bullshit," spits Jesse.

His interrogator shrugs. "Well, it's your only option. If you don't join, your sentence isn't up to me."

"You said you'd reduce it."

He smirks. "If you talked. And, also, I lied."

Fuming, Jesse stares down as the man leans back, a smug grin plastered on his face. What feels like several minutes pass, and then a thought pops into Jesse's head.

"Gabe, huh?" he asks, referencing the name he heard Jack use.

The man's eyebrow raises. "Observant," he says simply, nodding at Jesse.

The teenager smirks. "I need another name."

"What?" the interrogator asks, frowning.

"Well," Jesse points out, "Don't think I can call you Gabe in Blackwatch, can I?"

A grin spreads slowly across the other man's face, erasing the creased frown, and he says, "Call me Reyes." He stands up, pushing his chair back, and nods to Jesse. "I'll get someone to release you."

He brings his hand out from behind his back, revealing a battered brown cowboy hat emblazoned with a gold badge, and Jesse tries not to show his surprise as recognition races through him. He never thought he'd get his hat back; he knew it fell off during the Deadlock ambush, and he didn't imagined anyone would have bothered picking it up. It's a good surprise, though, a splash of familiarity in this unfamiliar situation.

"I believe this is yours," Reyes says simply, and tosses the hat onto the table. It spins and comes to a stop just in front of Jesse.

Without another word, he turns and walks out, boots resonating heavily throughout the room.

The throbbing in Jesse's temple is almost unbearable now, the sudden stress and fear combining to make the persistent ache even worse. He remembers the scrum that culminated in his multiple injuries, the sudden attack on Deadlock that shattered everything he was clinging to. It wasn't much, and it wasn't good, but the gang and his shooting skills were all he had left. He was planning on getting out of the gang as soon as he hit eighteen, maybe becoming a bounty hunter or a mercenary, using his sharpshooter's instincts to make a name for himself. Jesse had it all planned out, and then these guys turned up and ruined everything.

He remembers the moment a few members of Deadlock realised they'd been followed from their last mission, remembers the wrath with which the leader, Colt, dispatched of them. He recalls the whirring of helicopters filling the air around their base, a battered diner somewhere along Route 66, and the way figures in black dropped stealthily, silently, down from the helicopters to the ground in front of them. He remembers the fear he felt when Colt forced him to stand his ground and defend the Deadlock base.

_Ya gonna stay here, Jesse, and nothin's gonna move ya. Got it? Shoot as many of those bastards as ya can. I'm right beside ya, and if ya do well I'll make sure there's a higher position waitin' for ya once we get outta this._

Jesse also remembers the words Colt finished the sentence with, the words that chilled his marrow and sent fear tingling down his spine.

_If ya fail, I'll hunt ya down till the ends of the earth until ya pay. Got it?_

_It's that one sentence that throws him off, makes him realise just how ruthless Deadlock really is. Jesse promises himself that after this, if he survives, he'll get out of the gang. He's been waiting for the perfect opportunity to leave for some time now, wanting to fake his own death, wanting to strike out on his own without any Deadlock members hunting him down. He's tired of someone else calling the shots all the time; he always loved hearing the tales his mother used to tell him, stories of her past as a bounty hunter, and he knew instantly that was what he wanted to do. He wouldn't quite be allied with the angels or the devils, but he'd always have what he wanted. He'd always be able to protect the ones he loved._

_Jesse almost laughs. He lost his chance to protect those close to him long ago; he was even the cause. It's ironic that all he desired when he was younger was to save his ma._

_He's catapulted out of his reverie by a hard slap on the shoulder from Colt, and Jesse hurriedly pulls his revolver from its holster as the Deadlock leader saunters towards the diner's doorway. The teenager follows close behind, and he's instantly stunned by the mass of black-clad assaulters swarming the building. Colt shouts something, but his words are lost in the din of gunfire that suddenly fills the air, his yell the signal to start shooting. Jesse quickly takes aim at the nearest attacker and squeezes the trigger, his bullet punching through the man's armor into his shoulder. The figure crumples to the ground with the force of the shell, Jesse's shot not enough to kill him but enough to incapacitate. The teenager figures if he's going to strike out as a bounty hunter, he needs as low a price on his own head as he can get. Killing a shit ton of people here isn't going to help that._

_Jesse locks on to another target, shooting with precision and downing him immediately, and he rolls to the side and reloads as a hail of gunfire sprays towards him._

_"Ya doin' great, Jesse!" he hears Colt yell, and he takes down another assaulter in response, going for the knees this time. The man falls to the ground and Jesse hopes he has the sense to play dead, knowing that Deadlock won't hesitate to kill him if they win, and they find he's alive._

_He keeps shooting for what feels like hours, dispatching multiple targets with ruthless efficiency, Colt hollering praise at him and the other Deadlock members. Jesse dodges bullets and returns shots, and he quickly gets into the swing of things. He guesses he's downed about seven targets when he breathes in deeply, centering himself, and a strange sense of calmness overtakes him, and he lowers his gun slightly and flips his arm to just below his face._

_Jesse stares at the oncoming attackers, revolver ready just underneath his hand, and prepares to shoot. It's the only reason Deadlock took him in, really; this special skill he has, hitting multiple targets dead-on in a matter of seconds, the gun almost like an extension of himself. The only problem is he needs that tiny amount of time, and in this situation he just doesn't have it._

_A rapid spray of bullets sweeps towards him as he concentrates and he sees it coming too late, hurling himself out of their way and nearer to the rock face at the last minute. Pain streaks through his leg as he crashes into the rock with a bone-jarring impact, and he gasps slightly, gritting his teeth as he realises he dodged almost all of the shells but one. It's lodged itself in his right thigh. He falls, half-slumped, against the amber rock face, the wound burning, and raises his revolver, trying to pick off a few more even if he's now separated from the rest of Deadlock._

_That's when Jesse sees it._

_Several Deadlock members are on the ground, guns discarded, hands behind their heads, black-clad soldiers surrounding them and cuffing them one by one. Jesse's mouth goes dry as he takes in the larger number of dead members on the ground, his fellow Deadlocks' bodies scattered and lifeless. Colt is nowhere to be seen. There is nobody left defending. Their attackers have won._

_There's a noise from his left and Jesse jerks, spinning around to face the assaulter standing there as they kick out at his hand and his six-shooter goes flying out of his grip. Jesse snarls and balls his fist, throwing all his might behind the punch, but his opponent dodges it easily and returns it with a blow to the chin that snaps Jesse's head back and reverberates through his skull, the taste of copper exploding in his mouth. The operative raises their gun and for one heart-stopping moment Jesse thinks they'll shoot, but then the gun flips round and his attacker slams the butt down, and pain spurts through Jesse's left temple and the world turns black as he crumples to the ground._

It's all Jesse remembers before he woke up here, inside Overwatch, and he wonders if anyone else got out alive and free. Immediately after he considers this, he doubts it.

Jesse's gaze strays to his hat, lying on the table. He wishes he could reach over and pick it up, and see if they bothered to look inside, but his hands are still restrained.

He'll just have to hope they didn't search it.


	3. Room 146

True to Reyes' word, within a few minutes a black-clad operative enters to release Jesse of his restraints. He's clean-shaven, unlike Reyes, and his features are made more severe because of it, his jaw sharp. His uniform is simple and form-fitting, and on his shoulder there's an emblem of what looks like a skull and sword, in the centre of a maroon and ivory ring. Jesse presumes it must be the Blackwatch logo, from its similarity to the Overwatch insignia. The first thing the Blackwatch operative does is attach a pair of metal handcuffs to Jesse's wrists, locking them, and the cool steel sends shivers up Jesse's arms. He crosses over to the other side of the table and reaches under it, and the straps binding Jesse to his chair slacken and retract, leather sliding over his skin. The teenager almost groans in relief as he moves his limbs, feeling sensation return to them, rolling his shoulders as he stretches his arms out.

"Get up," the operative grunts gruffly, gesturing at Jesse. A dark scowl twists his features as he glares.

Wordlessly, the teenager pushes himself up from the seat, wincing as pain streaks through his thigh. His gaze flicks to his leg as the bloodstain on his bandage grows, vivid scarlet spreading in every direction. The Blackwatch member's frown deepens as Jesse staggers slightly, and he folds his arms, unmoving. Jesse glares at him before reaching for his hat on the table, grabbing it and positioning it on his head, tugging it down slightly to make it secure. He tries to ignore his leg as his escort starts moving; it's difficult, pain shooting through it every time he takes a step, but the teenager manages it.

He follows the officer out of the interrogation room, to the door in the corner, and as he passes through, the now-familiar click sounding behind him, he has to try and suppress his grin. The Blackwatch operative doesn't even bother glancing back to see if his charge is following as they step out into a wide, white-walled corridor that stretches out past them, pristine glass covering the far side. Jesse's eyes go wide as he takes a step towards the window, staring at the scene outside. Burnished red-orange rocks are stacked like haphazard building blocks in towering formations, casting shadows over the ground beneath them. The sky is shockingly vivid, azure painted with streaks of bright ivory, and the whole scene is framed and matched by the white and blue accents of the windowframe. Jesse's never seen a sky so picturesque, and for a moment he's stunned, wondering where he actually is, considering if he's even in the same state, the same country, anymore.

The sound of somebody impatiently clearing their throat jerks Jesse out of his thoughts, and he turns away from the glass to see the Blackwatch operative glaring at him with slitted eyes, annoyance clearly visible on his face.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," Jesse mutters, scowling, and as his escort starts moving again the teenager follows.

As they pass through the facility, Jesse looks around at the clean, identical corridors and the multitude of people passing through them. He sees men and women wearing lab coats and holding clipboards, officers clad in blue and white with the Overwatch logo emblazoned all across their clothing, and even a few agents dressed similarly to his Blackwatch escort. He doesn't see Reyes, though, or Morrison. He's glad of the latter' absence; he presumes the man will still be furious with him for breaking his nose, and Jesse doesn't really want to run into him. He knows injuring the man wasn't smart; could have serious consequences.

It was so worth it, though.

The Blackwatch officer navigates the corridors easily and quickly, although Jesse rapidly becomes lost. Deadlock trained him to keep track of his surroundings, but he was never very good at it. And, even if he had been better, he's sure he would still get confused in this maze of identical hallways. The pain in his leg fades after a while of walking, and Jesse doesn't really notice it anymore. It's then, though, that he realises the people passing through the corridors have all disappeared. He looks around, frowning, and his escort pauses in the middle of the corridor. Jesse stares at him as he leans forward and swipes his fingers in a complex-looking gesture over a small, glowing square embedded in the wall, and the teenager narrows his eyes, focusing on the line of backlit text above the pad.

_146\. JESSE MCCREE._

Before Jesse can wonder how the hell there's already a _room_ set up for him, there's an almost imperceptible pneumatic whoosh, and a section of the wall suddenly moves backwards and slides to the right. His eyes widen as he stares at the newly-formed doorway, and the room beyond it. It's clean and functional, quite small, and it looks modern. The walls are painted dark grey, with a sleek scarlet strip running around about three-quarters of the way up them. There's a comfortable-looking black bed in the corner, and next to it Jesse sees a wardrobe with a pair of drawers beneath it. On the left side of the room he can make out a currently-closed door, coloured identically to the walls, a softly-glowing touchpad like the one the Blackwatch operative just opened beside it.

Jesse's struck with surprise, unable to stop staring at the luxurious room, and his only inkling of how long he's been staring comes when the operative clears his throat again and glares at Jesse. He grabs the teenager's wrists and unlocks the handcuffs roughly, and Jesse grimaces as cold feeling floods back into his fingers.

"Get in," he instructs gruffly, his brows pulled together in a scowl.

Wordlessly, Jesse obeys, stepping into the room. He pauses before he asks, "This... is this my room?"

The officer sighs loudly. "Apparently," he answers, looking none too pleased about it.

Jesse waits for more information, maybe some clue as to what's actually going to happen now, but the operative's silence makes it clear that's not going to happen without prompting. "So what do I do now?" he asks, staring at his sullen escort.

"You stay here," comes the answer, and Jesse's eyes widen slightly as the operative drags his fingers over the touchpad on the other side of the door again.

"Wait-"

The doorway closes as the wall slides back to its original position, sealing Jesse inside. He curses and goes over to the glowing pad beside it, swiping at it, but nothing happens. Each attempt he makes causes the pad to flash a deep, warning red, and eventually he stops his fruitless endeavour. Jesse turns around again, taking in the room. The bed is the first thing that draws his attention, and he walks over and flops onto it, enjoying the soft material. He's staring up at the ceiling now, and he reaches up and grabs his hat, lifting it off his head. He raises it above him and holds it with one hand, fiddling and rifling through the inside with the other. The band of material encircling the inside is dark brown and satiny, and it's attached to the hat only at the bottom; it creates a sort of storage space where he can tuck small items away. In this case, the things in question are a couple of cigars and a pocket lighter.

Jesse caught the habit about a year ago in Deadlock, when several of the members challenged him to try a smoke. He did exactly what they dared him to, and ever since then he's developed an odd predilection for that particular type of earthy-tasting cigars. He's become used to always keeping a couple in his hat in case his Deadlock supply ran out. He guesses now is as good a time to use them as any; he's sure he can find more somewhere here, anyway.

Jesse takes out a cigar and the lighter, and flicks his eyes around the room, searching for a smoke detector. He can see a round device in the corner of the ceiling, but he's not sure what it does. He gives a mental shrug and flicks open the lighter, holding the end of the cigar to the coruscant flame and inhaling slightly. He waits a second before snapping it shut again and tucking it back into his hat, holding the now-lit cigar in his mouth. The woody flavour fills his senses as he exhales, smoke drifting lazily upwards in a spiral.

A piercing wail shatters the silence and Jesse bolts upright, hat falling to the ground, cigar almost flying out of his fingers. He curses and glares at the device on the ceiling, presumably indeed a smoke detector, and reaches up and waves his hand around ineffectively in a futile attempt to disperse some of the smoke. Jesse stares at the lit cigar, then at his surroundings, frantically looking for somewhere to put it out, so engrossed in his search that he doesn't hear the pneumatic opening of the door.

"Kid," comes a voice, and Jesse almost yelps with surprise, spinning round immediately. "How the hell have you managed to set off an alarm _already_?"

Reyes stands in the doorway, staring at Jesse with utter disbelief, one hand loosely holding a wad of black material. The teenager feels like a rabbit in headlights as he stares right back, still holding the cigar. He can see Reyes' gaze travel from him to the smoke detector to the cigar, and as he makes the connection the older man sighs. He crosses over to Jesse and snatches the cigar, and turns away wordlessly, swiping his fingers across the touchpad beside the closed door on the other side of the room. It hisses open in much the same way as the first, revealing a clean, bright bathroom, and Reyes points inside. Jesse raises an eyebrow at him, and the Blackwatch commander folds his arms.

"Get in there and clean yourself up, kid."

Jesse looks down at his sand-soiled serape and dusty clothing, and Reyes holds out the pile of folded black material to him. Jesse makes a face and holds it out in front of him. Gravity takes hold and the clothing unfolds, revealing a pair of dark trousers and a black shirt, so different to his current Wild Western ensemble. Jesse's brow creases in a scowl.

"I ain't wearing that."

"Yes, you are," Reyes tells him, smirking slightly, and gestures to the bathroom again. "When you want to come out, swipe left to right on the pad." He mimics the motion in the air.

Jesse rolls his eyes but does as the commander says, strolling into the bathroom. The white-tiled room is functional but clean, with all the basic amenities. The door closes behind him as he steps inside and he looks around in wonder; he's been used to unclean, dirty toilets in outhouses for a few years now, not the pristine white facilities he's staring at now. All the same, though he does what Reyes told him to. He starts taking off his clothing, starting with his spur-adorned, sandy boots, and steps inside the shower.

_______________________________________________________

  
Ten minutes later, Jesse emerges from the bathroom looking flustered and holding his dirty, bloodstained Deadlock outfit in a crumpled pile. The sand and dust caked into his hair has vanished, and his face is a shade lighter without the layer of grime over it, causing Reyes to wonder exactly how long the boy's gone without a shower. He's dressed in Blackwatch uniform, dark and undecorated save for the operation's insignia on his left sleeve. The clothes don't fit properly, and they're baggy on his skinny frame. He huffs as Reyes surveys him.

"It's good enough, kid." The commander grins, and takes the clothing from him. "Stay here. I'll be back in a second."

Reyes strides out of the room, pausing only to swipe the touchpad and unlock the door, clothes in one hand, cigar in the other. Jesse watches him go with a scowl. His hat is still lying crookedly on the ground, and he picks it up, checking to see if his other cigars are still there; mercifully, they are. Jesse places it on his head and tugs down, securing it, and looks down at his clothing. He hates the utter absence of uniqueness, individuality, personality about his ensemble, although he supposes it makes sense. Covert agents in neon outfits probably wouldn't be that successful at stealth, after all.

Jesse waits there awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure what to do, wondering how long Reyes is going to take. Within a minute or two, though, the door swooshes open again and Jesse looks up at the figure standing in the doorway.

"Come on, kid," he says. "Places to go, people to meet."

The teenager frowns, looking at Reyes' empty hands. "You better not have trashed my clothes."

Reyes lets out a short laugh, making Jesse's scowl deepen. "Don't worry, they're just getting cleaned. Come on," he says again, beckoning as he turns and walks out of the room.

Jesse follows.

Unlike his earlier Blackwatch escort, who passed through the corridors relatively unnoticed, Reyes draws attention from every single person who sees him. It's not a respectful nod or a friendly smile that everyone gives him, though; instead, they avert their eyes and go silent as he strides through the halls, Jesse in tow.

"Where are we going?" the teenager asks.

"Medical clinic," Reyes answers, glancing down at him. "You need to get checked out, and we need to fix that leg."

Jesse huffs amusedly, realising he's completely forgotten about his wounded thigh. Strangely enough, it doesn't hurt that much anymore, and it's hard to differentiate the pain from the general aching all over his body.

Reyes doesn't say anything more, but he catches Jesse's shade of a smile from the corner of his eye, and a small grin spreads over his own face. The remainder of the two-minute walk to the clinic is silent, but strangely companionable for both of them.


	4. Angela

The medical clinic is as pristinely white as Jesse expects it to be. Softly glowing screens line the far wall next to a glass cabinet through which he can see fifty different bottles and tubs, and from floor to ceiling the entire room is white. Gleaming silver worksurfaces are dotted around the edge of the area, and a couple of island workbenches are in the centre. A few doctors and scientists, clad in white clothing that stops just short of the length of Morrison's vivid coat, are milling about the room.

Reyes beckons to Jesse as they enter, walking through the room without paying any heed to the occupants, and the teenager follows him to a row of several frosted glass doors next to the screens. Reyes knocks on one of them and opens it, revealing a small area with a bed in the centre. It's decorated almost identically to the main clinic, except for the numerous photos scattered and stuck on the walls. A young woman is seated there, and at their entry she swings round in her chair and beams at them, tucking a few strands of golden hair behind her ear.

Reyes says, "Hi, Angela."

"Good morning, Commander Reyes," she greets him, in an accented voice. Jesse struggles to place it.

"This is our newest Blackwatch recruit." He gestures to Jesse, getting straight to the point. "I'd love it if you could heal him."

Angela's smile grows wider as she looks at Jesse, clearly excited to have a patient. "Of course! Take a seat," she says to Jesse, patting the bed before she turns to rummage through one of the drawers in her desk.

Reyes steps back and leans against the wall, arms crossed, as Jesse sits, lanky form sprawled out on the bed.

"Angela, huh?"

The young woman nods, still smiling. "Yes. And you are...?"

He grins. "Jesse," he tells her.

Angela finds what she's looking for and stands up from her chair, holding what looks like a giant stick. Jesse frowns, startled.

"Uh... what's that?"

Angela laughs, looking at it lovingly. "I call it my Caduceus Staff. I invented it to... well, you'll see."

Jesse cocks his head, looking at her features. She looks incredibly young for a doctor, and he wonders why. But before he can think about any further Angela reaches for the top of the staff and pushes a button and flicks a switch, and suddenly a twisting stream of bright golden light erupts from it, flowing towards Jesse. His eyes are wide as it hits him, but the soothing, healing feeling when it makes contact with his body is heavenly.

Jesse sighs, unable to help himself.

Angela giggles as she stands there, holding the staff.

Jesse can almost feel the scrapes and bruises over him fade and sink into nothingness, and he has to keep himself from grinning as the healing warmth flows over his entire being. The throbbing in his temple vanishes and he runs his hand over his thigh, stunned at the lack of pain when he does so; the wound in his leg has disappeared, and as he stares at it the light from Angela's staff shuts off and she stows it away in her desk again.

"How did you... you made that?" Jesse asks, astonished.

She nods with a small smile, cheeks turning slightly pink. "Yes. And thank you for letting me test it on you. I'm so glad it works!"

Jesse's astounded expression vanishes, replaced by confusion. "Wait, what now?"

A hand lands on his shoulder and he jerks to see Reyes standing behind him, a smug grin plastered all over his face. "We'd better get going. Thanks, Angela."

Angela's smile widens slightly. "Thank _you_ , Commander Reyes."

Reyes pulls Jesse along behind him as they leave the room, and the instant they're out of Angela's view Jesse shakes free of the commander's grip on his shoulder.

"You let her _test_ it on me!?" he asks, furious and disbelieving.

Reyes shrugs. "I was going to send my next wounded operative over to her, but then you came along. Works either way."

Jesse scowls, but lets it go. He is healed, after all.

Reyes' office is close to both the clinic and what Reyes informs Jesse are the training ranges, and it doesn't take them long to reach it. Reyes swipes his finger across the touchpad beside the door to open it, then detaches something from his belt and holds it against the pad. It flickers green and the door slides open.

"Sit," Reyes says as he strolls inside, pointing to a functional chair opposite a slab of black glass that functions as a desk. He goes over to his own swivel chair, complete with rolling wheels and a much more comfy-looking seat, and leans back in it as Jesse sits. "We need to make a security code for you."

Jesse raises an eyebrow as Reyes slides over a pad, identical to the ones affixed by every office or living room in the Watchpoint. The commander gestures to it, and Jesse reaches forward and taps it once.

It flashes red.

"Needs to be a little more complex than a tap, kid," Reyes tells him, looking suspiciously like he's restraining a smirk.

Jesse huffs and tries again, doodling a pattern that he's sure, if it was replicated in visible ink, would look like some supremely un artistic three-year-old's drawing of their house. The pad pulses green when he lifts his finger off, and Reyes takes it back from him. Jesse watches as the commander taps his desk twice and it thrums to life, the inbuilt screen on the top lighting up.

"You'll use this to get in and out of your room," Reyes explains, swiping at his screen. "The only people that should know it are you and me, okay? It'll work for your room and your room only, so don't try and break into some other person's quarters because you feel like it. You'll need to use the biometric scanners to get into communal areas, so-"

There's a pneumatic hiss and the door swings open again, and Jesse twists round in his seat to stare at whoever's entered. He sees them and his eyes widen, and he faintly hears Reyes make an amused sound.

"We need to coordinate the Deadlock transfer soon, Gabe, Adawe is getting concerned..." Jack trails off, distracted by something he's reading on the tablet he's holding in his hands.

Wordlessly, Reyes leans back in his chair and laces his hands behind his head. Jack looks up at his silence and sees his posture and frowns. His eyes fall on Jesse.

Jack recognises the teenager, sees him without handcuffs or restraints, and exclaims "What the hell!?"

Reyes says, "Hi, Jack. Meet the newest member of Blackwatch." He gestures to Jesse, who just stares at Morrison, and the Strike-Commander rounds on Reyes.

"What the _hell_?" he repeats. "This is too far, even for you, Gabe. This kid is from Deadlock. He broke my _nose_. He's not setting foot in my operation."

Reyes replies coolly, "Firstly, Jack, he already has. Secondly, this isn't _your_ operation. You gave me jurisdiction over Blackwatch. I can hire whoever I damn well please."

Irritation swirls in Morrison's eyes as he glares at Reyes, and Jesse glances between them, brows furrowed. They stare at each other, tension stretched like razor-thin wire. There's something extra in both their expressions, besides calm coolness on Reyes' part and frustrated annoyance on Morrison's, and Jesse scrutinises their faces, trying to figure it out.

Suddenly Morrison lets out an exasperated sigh, and runs one hand through his straw-streaked golden hair. "If this goes wrong, Gabe," he says, staring at Jesse, "it's on you."

Reyes shrugs. "It always is."

Morrison sweeps out of the office without another word, and the long blue Strike-Commander coat billows out behind him. Jesse sees Reyes' gaze tracking the fabric as it flows out of view, that expression still firmly on his face. Jesse's only ever seen it once: a couple of days before his twelfth birthday, when his mother told him how much he looked like his dad. Although he can only remember it vaguely, her expression held a few traces of the same thing as Reyes' does now.

"So," Jesse says casually, as Reyes stares at the empty doorway. "You like him, huh?"

Reyes' gaze snaps to Jesse, and his previous expression melts away to be replaced by surprise. "What?"

"You like him," Jesse repeats, overly enunciating each word. Reyes' expression takes on a hint of annoyance. "As in, _like him_ like him. Don't you?"

His grin widens as Reyes frowns. "That's none of your business."

The teenager laughs. "You do!"

"Shut up, kid."

"Sure thing, boss," Jesse replies, eyes dancing with amusement. In the next moment, though, he remembers where exactly he is, and what position he's in, and the laughter fades from his eyes.

Reyes clears his throat. "Kid..."

Jesse looks up, frowning.

"This isn't going to be easy, you know. You're going to get a lot of shit for where you come from, and you'll be stuck on the outside for a while," Reyes tells him, his gaze focused on Jesse and strangely serious. "But I can promise you now Blackwatch is better than Deadlock. Just stick it out, okay?"

"What makes you think I actually wanna be in Blackwatch, huh?" Jesse levels the question at Reyes with a raised eyebrow and smirk, pretending to completely ignore his words. "I could just be waitin' for the right moment to run."

Reyes lets out a short chuckle. "You wouldn't have accepted my offer if that was the case."

Jesse falls silent at that.

Reyes doesn't say anything more, but just swipes and manipulates the controls on his desk, sorting through files and messages. He seems to ignore most of them, and Jesse spots several official-looking communications, emblazoned with Overwatch emblems, that Reyes just swipes past. Jesse gets the feeling that the Blackwatch commander is waiting for him to say something, but he's not sure what.

He clears his throat awkwardly.

"So what now?"

Reyes answers without looking at him. "I'm going to ask you some questions and you're going to answer them honestly, and if I like what I hear we'll move on."

Jesse sighs, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. "Fine, but I ain't answerin' anythin' I don't want to."

A flicker of amusement crosses Reyes' face. "Fine, as long as you don't pull that trick for everything." He abandons his swiping and looks up, clearing his throat to get Jesse's full attention. The teenager's gaze snaps to him. "When did you join Deadlock?"

Jesse answers curtly, "Five years ago."

The commander has to mask his surprise at the answer; five years ago, the kid would have been twelve. Twelve. He doesn't want to imagine what kind of events pulled him into the notorious gang. "Why were you a member?"

"Nope," Jesse says, something hard glinting in his eyes. "Not answerin' that one."

Reyes sighs and tugs on his beanie, something Jesse's noticed he does a lot. "Fine. Did you ever meet the leader?"

Jesse nods.

"What was his name?"

"Never knew his first name, but we always called him Colt. Y'know, like the gun." Jesse holds up two fingers and flicks them upwards, making a small pew sound as he does so.

Reyes glances down at his desk as something flashes in the left corner. Jesse starts to read it from his upside-down viewpoint, but the inbuilt screen goes dark again as Reyes looks up again. "Did Deadlock ever take in anyone else your age?"

"No," Jesse says honestly. "I was always the youngest guy there."

"Do you know where the other members came from?"

"No."

"How many of you were there?"

"Uh... if I had to guess, I'd say... 'bout fifty?"

Reyes sighs through his teeth. "We didn't get everyone in the raid, then. Fourteen prisoners, including you, and twenty-nine dead."

Jesse blinks at him. "So?"

"So, we have to take the rest down. And I need your help to do it."

"Oh." Recognition dawns on Jesse. "So that's why you recruited me."

Reyes looks at him sharply. "I recruited you because you're only a teenager, and you were about to throw your life and your skills away. I wasn't about to condemn you to life behind bars if I didn't have to. Your knowledge of Deadlock is a side bonus."

Jesse refuses to acknowledge the strange sensation that blooms in his chest at the words, instead leaning back in his chair again and crossing his arms, looking around Reyes' office. It's the same colour scheme as Jesse's own room, jet black and deep red, and almost as sparsely decorated. The only personal touches Jesse can see are a crinkled photo on his desk, and a board covered in photos and articles. Jesse has to squint to read the minuscule headline on the most prominent article; it reads "OMNIC CRISIS ENDS". He remembers Colt's reaction to the end of the Crisis: a mixture of surprise and anger that it would likely mean less arms purchases. Nobody would want to buy firearms to defend themselves if there was nothing to defend against. Jesse also remembers having to go on a supply run after their stock of medical supplies ran out as a result of Colt expressing his rage. Luckily, Jesse hadn't been around that time for the Deadlock leader to use him as a target.

Reyes says suddenly, "Give me your hand."

Jesse frowns but obliges, extending his left arm to the commander. He takes it and holds it steady, reaching beneath the desk for something. Before Jesse can ask what he's doing, Reyes produces a small black slab and presses it against Jesse's finger. There's a high-pitched beep and Reyes lets go of the teenager's hand, wordlessly placing the slab in the centre of his desk. Jesse sits in silence as the commander taps on the inbuilt screen a few times.

"That's the last of the administration for now. Your fingerprint's in the system, and you'll be able to use the biometric scanners to get into rooms," Reyes tells him. "Except for your sleeping area, which you've already set the password for."

Jesse nods, unsure what to say. He's never been recorded anywhere before; the feeling of being labelled and monitored, with his details stored away where he can't reach them, is alien to him.

The door opens again with another hiss, and Jesse looks at the woman who enters. He recognises the uniform, identical to his original Blackwatch escort, but he doesn't recognise her face. She salutes Reyes as she enters, and he nods in acknowledgement.

"Liza'll take you back to your room," he tells Jesse, and with that he goes back to focusing on his desk and the information displayed on it.

Somewhat reluctantly, Jesse stands up and meets the gaze of the slightly annoyed-looking woman. She jerks her head roughly, wordlessly, towards the door, and Jesse sighs as he follows her out of Reyes' office.


	5. Spray and Pray

Jesse spends the rest of the day in his room, attempting to search for somewhere to dispose of his cigars so that Reyes won't notice. When he fails at finding it, he gives up and just smokes one anyway. The familiar taste calms him down slightly, knowing that one thing hasn't changed about his situation even if everything else has. Not wanting another alarm to go off due to his smoking, Jesse has taped layers of tissue over the smoke detector using materials he found in the bathroom.

As he sits on the floor, sprawled out with an arm resting across his knee, he realises just how much has changed. Deadlock is being hunted, and he, Jesse McCree, once a loyal member, is going to help bring it down. The teenager frowns as he stares down at his left arm and the inky symbol tattooed on it.

_Everyone gets one, Jesse. Ya ain't chickenin' out, are ya?_

He was only thirteen when they inked the Deadlock mark on his skin, the symbol that claimed him as one of their own. He never wanted excess tattoos, unlike some members who had more inked than clear skin, but he always felt proud of his mark. Strangely enough, that hasn't changed; the feeling is still there, and he doubts it will ever truly leave, no matter what his new shiny organisation does.

Jesse takes another breath of his cigar and blows out, watching the steady stream of smoke drift its way up to the ceiling. As he stares at it, some of it almost seems to bend in a direction. Jesse frowns and narrows his eyes, and exhales again, staring intently at the smoke. There's no missing it now that he's looking for it; the smoke is being pulled over to the right, towards the corner above his bed, presumably through something like an air vent. He climbs up on it and inspects the ceiling, running his hand along it. He comes across a tiny indent and pauses, craning his neck to look it at properly, and Jesse sees a tiny circle of small dots.

"What the hell...?" he mumbles, suspicious. The teenager's brow is creased as he taps the circle lightly, unsure what it is.

"Please do not tamper with the microphone, Agent McCree."

Jesse yelps and topples off the bed, crashing to the ground in a heap, and the cigar flies from his fingers. "What the _hell_?" he yells, staring at the ceiling.

"I apologise. I did not mean to startle you," says a disembodied voice, sounding inherently female and unimpressed.

"Who is this?" Jesse asks, heart thumping with the shock.

"I am Athena."

Jesse frowns up at the ceiling, wishing he had an actual face to glare at. "You just listenin' to everythin' I do, then?"

"Of course. I monitor everyone in Watchpoint: Grand Mesa."

"How?"

"Every room is equipped with a microphone, and many with a camera. Living quarters are among those without visual surveillance."

"No, I mean how do you watch everyone all the time? You've gotta be some sort of... oh."

Jesse has heard of artificial intelligences before; he's never had much contact with omnics or technology, apart from the occasional illegal trade, but he was present when Colt decided breaking into a Helix Security-guarded train was a good idea. Deadlock won, of course, and Jesse watched while Colt tortured the only survivor for information. The soldier talked about something called an Anubis AI. One of the Deadlock members, Harley, an ex-Omnica engineer, spent the next week talking about it, and Jesse picked up a lot of information from her.

However, he's never actually met an AI. But from what Athena is saying, it seems ten times more likely that she's an artificial intelligence than an actual person. As odd as his encounters have been so far, Jesse doubts Overwatch would stick someone on duty to monitor every single room ever single day.

The teenager spends the next half hour finishing his cigar, attempting to forget his new knowledge of his constantly being listened to. It doesn't work, and as soon as his smoke is finished he starts glaring at in the general direction of the microphone. He doesn't say a word, and neither does Athena.

A while has passed when, almost an hour into his stony silence, there's a knock on the door and Jesse frowns. He remembers his new code easily, swiping across the touchpad to open it, and it swishes open to reveal a complete absence of people. Jesse huffs, and something catches his eye. Looking down, he sees a black device and a piece of paper on top of a pile of folded material. He scoops the items up and retreats back into his room, still reluctant to make any sound, reading the note. It's brief and blunt, and Jesse rolls his eyes as he reads it.

_MY OFFICE ASAP._  
_BRING THE COMM UNIT._  
_\- R_

Jesse can only assume the unit he's talking about is the black box, and he turns it over in his hands, inspecting it. The surface is glossy and smooth, with two buttons to the left of the screen. He presses one of them, to which the unit stays unresponsive. The other button is equally ineffective.

The teenager holds up the fabric and lets it unroll, gripping it on one edge and letting the rest of the material drop down. He recognises his serape the instant he catches sight of the gold stitching, and with a smirk he wraps it around his shoulders, swinging it back like a cape. The rest of his Deadlock gear is there, and Jesse considers that it's probably only been returned for sentimental value, and the fact he specifically asked Reyes about it. It's incredibly unlikely that the commander intends for him to wear it.

Jesse shrugs and smirks, and puts it on anyway, discarding his Blackwatch uniform on the ground. He might not be able to leave Overwatch without getting thrown in prison, but he can damn well annoy them.

Sweeping his hat onto his head, Jesse scoops up the comm unit and opens his door, navigating his way through the Watchpoint to Reyes' office, backtracking the route he took to his room earlier. He gets lost a couple of times, but thankfully when he takes a wrong turn it's usually immediately obvious it's a dead end.

When he reaches Reyes' door, Jesse pauses for a moment before knocking. The room opens, the touchpad flashing green as the door unlocks, revealing Reyes sitting behind his desk again. Jesse steps inside, and his gaze shoots straight to the teenager's ensemble.

"I didn't actually mean for you to wear that," the commander points out, one eyebrow raised. "It's not part of the uniform."

Jesse scowls. "Too bad."

Reyes shrugs, lacing his hands behind his head. "Don't let Morrison see you like that."

Jesse makes a face somewhere between a smirk and a grimace.

"Anyway," the commander says, getting up, his desk screen fading to black. "Have you got your comm unit?"

Jesse nods, holding it out. Reyes takes it and holds down both buttons until the screen lights up, displaying a keyboard and prompt.

_ENTER ID NUMBER_

Jesse watches as the commander enters a few digits, then hands it back to him. The screen is blank save for a header at the top proclaiming Inbox.

"You'll use this to keep in touch with me, and anyone else who needs to talk to you. Top button creates a message, then pressing it again sends it. Bottom selects a message in your inbox to read, and if you press it again it'll close it."

Reyes demonstrates, clicking the top button on his own unit and bringing up a list of contacts. He selects the one labelled _JESSE MCCREE_ and types the word "test", then clicks the top button again. Jesse's own unit vibrates and he looks down, seeing an entry in his inbox that reads _GABRIEL REYES_. Jesse opens the message with the bottom button, and Reyes nods, and instructs him to send one back. He does so.

"Think you've got it, kid?" the commander asks.

"Yeah," Jesse says. "What now?"

"We're going to the training range. It's not far."

Jesse takes note of the route as Reyes leads him down the corridor and turns right. A sign labelled _TRAINING RANGE_ hangs above the door they're presented with; Reyes wasn't kidding about its proximity to his office. The commander gestures to the biometric scanner by the door and Jesse obeys, pressing his finger to it and unlocking the door. Reyes walks in first.

"We're going to be handling live firearms today. Don't try anything stupid, okay?" he says as Jesse follows.

"I know how to use a gun," Jesse mutters, irritated.

"I'm fully aware," Reyes shoots back. "So don't try to shoot me, or anything else I don't tell you to. Understood?"

"Sure thing, boss," answers the teenager. The affirmation seems to be enough for the commander, who turns swiftly around and heads for the far wall, covered with shelves and stands holding a plethora of different guns. Jesse's jaw almost drops as he looks at the collection; he recognises many of the weapons, but he's still unfamiliar with more than half. And, considering all his arms trafficking experience, it surprises him.

Reyes grabs a lightweight auto rifle from the wall, tossing it across the short distance between him and Jesse. "Start with this. Get in there," he says, pointing at the well-lit white room in the centre of the range. Inside, it's set up with safehouses and barricades and a bunch of different objects for cover, but Jesse can't see anything to shoot. He shrugs and goes in anyway, and the pneumatic door hisses shut behind him. The walls, transparent from the outside, turn out to be opaque from inside; he can't see Reyes, can't see what he's about to do, and it annoys Jesse.

Reyes' voice filters in from above him as he stands near the edge of the combat cell. "Okay, kid. All you have to do is shoot the bots when they appear, and keep a lookout for your surroundings. They'll change a lot." As if to demonstrate, a portion of the white floor opens and swallows a piece of scenery. It disappears downwards and Jesse's eyes go wide as the ground closes back up again.

"Good luck," Reyes says simply.

There's a noise, and then the bot appears in front of him and starts shooting fizzling blue blasts of energy in his direction. One collides with Jesse's arm and he yelps as pain shoots across it.

"Electrical blasts," Reyes comments by way of explanation. "Mostly harmless, but painful. Now shoot it."

Jesse aims the rifle and pulls the trigger, almost toppling over at the recoil. There's a reason he prefers revolvers to autos; he likes to be accurate, and the spray and pray approach doesn't really work for him. He stares at the bot, and realises every one of

"Try again."

The teenager narrows his eyes and squeezes the trigger briefly, and his spray of shots goes wide, missing the bot's head by inches.

"Stop dicking around, kid. I've seen your kills. You're more accurate than this." Reyes' words are frank and blunt, and it pisses Jesse off.

"Not with this piece of crap," the teenager yells to the ceiling, hoping his commander can hear him.

"Start shooting properly." Reyes' response is impassive, ignoring Jesse's objection, with only a slight hint of boredom; it just makes the teenager more annoyed.

Jesse scowls and stares at the bot, fixing it in his mind. He shoots again, scoring a perfect cluster of bullets in the center of the bot's head, and he glares at the ceiling as the bot sparks and topples over. "That enough for you?"

"Perfect," he replies, smirking. Something whirrs above Jesse's head, and five bots spring into view and start shooting immediately, sending Jesse into a dive for cover. "Better carry on that way."

  
________________________

  
"That's enough for today," Reyes says eventually, once Jesse is panting from the physical exertion. They've been in the training range for hours, and while Jesse is not an unfit individual by any means, sweat is running down his face in rivulets. Reyes made him run the simulations again and again, setting up new scenarios for each one: more accurate, more intelligent bots, bigger enemies, larger numbers, less cover, a different weapon each time, all while sprinting around the range multiple times inbetween each simulation. Not once did the commander give him a revolver to work with; he would have breezed past the situation if he had one. No, it was almost like Reyes knew every single type of gun he hated and specifically chose the weapons most likely to piss him off. Jesse bends over, attempting to get his breath back, gasping for air.

"Be here at six in the morning tomorrow, clear? We're going to do this every day until you're good enough to train with the others."

If Jesse had enough breath to do it, he'd snap off a snarky remark. Unfortunately, the workout has stolen all semblance of composure from him, and the only thing he can do is attempt to recover.

"After that, you can have an hour or so for breakfast and shit like that, and then I want you here again at nine." Reyes stares at Jesse with folded arms. "Are you listening to me?"

 _No._ "Yeah," Jesse answers.

The commander raises an eyebrow. "The exercise too much for you?"

Jesse glares up at him. "Just a bit."

Reyes lets out a laugh. "You better get used to it. Remember: here, tomorrow, six. Do not be late."

He turns his back on Jesse and the teenager glares daggers at his retreating back. " _Pendejo_ ," he mutters.

" _Escuché eso_ ," Reyes answers without pausing in his exit, and Jesse's eyes go wide.

"You speak _Spanish_!?" he asks, dumbfounded.

Reyes is already gone, though, and Jesse is left stunned and breathless in the middle of the training range.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so much for your comments they make my day <3


	6. Day Eleven

The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythm for Jesse. Reyes takes him through hellish exercises that constantly increase in intensity, and every morning at six Jesse is swaying half-awake on his feet, fending off bots and dodging bullets. The Blackwatch commander steadfastly refuses to let Jesse use a revolver, despite the teenager's frequent cursing over the numerous auto and pulse rifles he's given.

Jesse never interacts with anyone outside Reyes, several rotating Blackwatch members who are always tight-lipped and silent around him, and, uncommonly, Angela. Although he's often injured by the training bots, the commander only takes him to her when his wounds stop him from going about his daily activities.

"You need to learn to work through pain," Reyes had told him after one particularly bad session. Jesse had avoided two bots' frontal assault, but managed to roll into the path of another, who had immediately attacked him. The shots that hit him were so close-range they'd burned his arm. The teenager had complained for the entirety of the rest of the session about it, but Reyes hadn't relented, threatening to restart the whole thing again "if you don't shut up, kid."

Jesse had shut up.

The rest of a standard day is usually spent in his room; he's not allowed freely into the main compound without an escort, unless he's purposefully going somewhere he's supposed to be like Reyes' office, and he can't usually be asked to trail around the facility with a glaring Blackwatch officer staring at him the entire time. He stays in his room instead, smoking his steadily-dwindling supply of cigars or attempting to get Athena to talk properly to him, or gulping down the meals provided three times a day like he's afraid they'll disappear. In truth, he is; Colt used to withhold their supplies from anyone who pissed him off. And, if he was angry enough, he'd just let the offender starve to death. Jesse was on the receiving end of that punishment once, when he accidentally fucked up an arms deal, and he honestly thought he'd die. The only thing that saved him was how badly Colt wanted his particular talent.

Since that first interaction, though, she hasn't really deigned to tell him anything of significance, despite his asking; their chats are limited to "I'm afraid I can't tell you that", "I'm sorry, that is classified information" and "Agent McCree, please do not interfere with the microphone". Eventually, she stops talking to him entirely.

In the afternoons, Jesse goes through hours-long interrogation sessions, usually with Reyes. They leave him feeling drained and disgusted afterwards, and the notion of betraying Deadlock like he's doing has a bitter taste. Usually, the questions aren't that personal, but are about the gang itself: from travel routes to normal cargo, from information about specific members to the command structure. Sometimes, though, they ask him why he joined. Every time, he refuses to answer.

The day Jesse joined Deadlock was the worst day in his life. It completely changed everything he knew, and the future he had wanted just disappeared in one moment. He'll be damned if he's going to talk about it in front of that hardass Reyes.

On the eleventh day since Jesse became part of Blackwatch, he's sprawled on the floor in his room, staring up at the ceiling and trying to get Athena to talk to him.

"'llo? Athena, you there or are you just ignorin' me again?" he asks, not expecting any sort of response but attempting to ease his boredom anyway.

There's a knock on the door and Jesse shoots to his feet, shoving his hat down onto his head and quickly opening it. The door slides away to reveal a pile of black clothes on the floor. Jesse sees a woman in blue and white uniform walking away from him, presumably after having dropped off the clothing; she doesn't look like a soldier, with her lack of decorations or weapons. He shrugs, snatches up the clothes, and retreats inside again.

Something buzzes in his pocket and he yanks out his communicator, staring at the glowing screen.

_GABRIEL REYES: You'll get some clothes soon. Wear them._

Jesse rolls his eyes.

_JESSE MCCREE: I already got clothes._

_GABRIEL REYES: These aren't a stupid cowboy outfit._

_JESSE MCCREE: So full black edgelord uniform is better, is it?_

_GABRIEL REYES IS TYPING..._

_GABRIEL REYES IS TYPING..._

_GABRIEL REYES: Yup._

Jesse huffs an annoyed laugh and looks over the black material, inspecting it. It looks identical to his Blackwatch uniform, the one he's steadfastly refused to use, instead wearing his serape and Deadlock gear every day.

_JESSE MCCREE: These are the same as the ones you gave me before._

_GABRIEL REYES: I'm not expecting you to wear the same outfit every day without getting it washed. Jesus, kid. It just took a while to get another in your size. Now you have two uniforms, and you don't have to wear the cowboy getup._

_GABRIEL REYES: At least, I'm assuming the reason you're not wearing the original is because you don't want to wear dirty clothes. It better be._

_JESSE MCCREE IS TYPING..._

_JESSE MCCREE IS TYPING..._

_JESSE MCCREE IS TYPING..._

_JESSE MCCREE: Sure._

_GABRIEL REYES: Good. Meet me in my office in twenty minutes._

_JESSE MCCREE: What do I wear?_

_GABRIEL REYES: Kid._

Jesse drops the comm unit on the ground and considers the uniform for a bit. It's exactly like his last one. He cocks his head slightly, thinking, and then he scoops up the clothing and disappears into the bathroom. When he comes back out, Jesse is wearing the Blackwatch uniform. With a grin, he detaches the spurs from his Deadlock boots and sticks them in the Blackwatch ones, shoving his hat on his head, wrapping his serape around him.

"Screw you, Reyes," he mutters under his breath, grinning.

Jesse makes his way to Reyes' office quickly: he's learnt the route now, as well as the way to the training range. When he reaches it, the door is already open, and he walks in and plonks himself down on the seat. Reyes gives him a look as if to say _seriously_?

"You can't wear that, for the last time," Reyes sighs, tugging on his beanie. "What is it about that that you can't understand?"

"Why can't I?" Jesse asks, smirking when a slightly infuriated look comes over the commander's face.

"This is a _stealth operation_. You can't be stealthy when you're wearing a bright red cape, and your footsteps make clinking noises."

"It's not a cape," says Jesse. "It's a serape."

"I do not _care_ ," Reyes shoots back. "Whatever the fuck it is, you can't wear it. I already told you that."

"No, actually, you told me to wear the Blackwatch uniform. I _am_." Jesse lifts his serape, showing the black shirt underneath, emblazoned with the Blackwatch insignia across the shoulder.

Reyes drags a hand down his face. " _Dios_ , you're annoying. Take it off."

Jesse smirks and crosses his arms, ignoring the command. "Why am I here?" he asks, changing the subject before he actually angers the commander. It's a trick he's learned over many years; in Deadlock, there were a few guys, including Jesse, that annoyed each other as a joke quite regularly. They had very little tolerance, though, and so if someone's teasing went over the limit they were liable to find themselves at the business end of a gun. Those encounters nearly always ended badly, and so Jesse always made sure to avoid them.

"You said you never went to school," Reyes says, in a tone that is not requesting confirmation but is stating as fact.

Jesse frowns. "Yeah. So?"

Reyes grins. "We're going to teach you."

Jesse's eyes go wide. "The fuck? I didn't join you 'cause you're a fuckin' daycare!"

"I already talked it over with Morrison. He thinks it's a great idea."

"I bet he does," Jesse mutters. "Dick."

"You're going to come here every day at ten, and someone is going to give you lessons in something. We haven't worked out the finest details yet, but I'll be teaching you some stuff and so will Morrison, at times."

"I'm not gonna take lessons from him," Jesse protests immediately.

Reyes shrugs and says simply, "Tough shit."

Jesse scowls and slumps back in his chair. "When does this start?"

"In about thirty seconds," Reyes tells him, and extends his wrist so Jesse can see the watch strapped to it, reading 9:59. The glowing numbers change, and Reyes stands up as the watch flicks to ten on the dot. "Come on."

Jesse groans and pushes himself up from his seat as Reyes strides out of the room, and he follows as the commander leads him to a wide door labelled _CONFERENCE ROOM_ , on the other side of the Watchpoint to the training ranges. Reyes opens the door and goes inside, Jesse on his heels, and walks over to the far wall.

"Sit," Reyes tells him, pointing at a solitary chair turned to face the wall. Jesse huffs but obeys, and the commander turns around and makes a few gestures. The wall lights up with a photo and Jesse frowns at it; it seems to be a blank white square, with a few blue and red dots, as well as several black shapes, scattered around it.

"What is that?" the teenager asks.

Reyes hesitates, then says, "That... that's not relevant. I didn't realise it was still up here."

He's about to make another gesture when Jesse says, "What is it, though?"

The Blackwatch commander sighs. "It's a representation of soldiers. Strategy training gets run in here every once in a while, and we use these as simulations to practice creating on-the-fly strategies. Red is enemy, blue is friendly, black is cover."

Jesse's frown deepens. "Some pretty stupid soldiers you got there then. The enemy's got 'em pinned down."

Reyes gives him a sharp look. "Excuse me?"

"Well, look," Jesse says, pointing at the cluster of blue dots in the centre. "I don't really know how they got in that stupid position in the first place, but they should jus' go that way," he continues, tracing the path with his finger, "and retreat behind cover. An' then one of them could take out that guy, an' another kill that guy."

Jesse stops talking, and realises Reyes is looking at him oddly. He frowns, then turns and gestures at the screen. The photo flicks to a similar diagram, but with a slightly different layout. One of the blue dots is separated from the others, with several red dots scattered haphazardly between them. The dots almost seem to move on their own, calling out to Jesse, and his mind whirrs through possibilities as he looks at the image.

"How does the rest of the team get to the soldier on his own?" Reyes asks, frowning intently at Jesse.

The teenager shrugs. "Can't."

Reyes lifts an eyebrow.

Jesse sighs and elaborates. "It's too risky for the whole team to go back. Jus' make a distraction, an' then one of them can go get the other guy. They can push the enemy from behind while the rest of 'em flank." He points at various points and dots during his explanation, and by the time he's done Reyes' brow is creased.

"Did they train you in strategy in Deadlock?" he asks.

Jesse blinks. "No."

He can almost see the cogs turning in the commander's mind as he stares at the photo. "Did you get taught before?"

"Nope." Jesse shrugs. "I mean, in the gang I used to watch when they talked tactics, but that's about it."

Reyes levels a frank stare at him, gesturing again. "This one. What do you see?"

They go on like that for just over an hour, Reyes pulling up various images and demanding solutions from Jesse. Each scenario gets harder and harder, with more complicated layouts and greater numbers of soldiers. The point of the original lesson has been long forgotten by the time Reyes reaches the end of the series of photos, and exhales slowly.

"Well," he says, seemingly at a loss for words, and checks the time. He mutters something under his breath and looks at Jesse directly. "I lost the point of the lesson there. Won't happen again."

Jesse cocks his head. "What were you gonna teach me?"

"History of the Omnic Crisis. Every kid should know about the Crisis. You don't, and that's a problem I need to fix," Reyes tells him. "Also, Morrison is complaining about your lack of respect, and you not wearing the uniform is a pretty big part of that. He's hoping learning about some of the things we did, the sacrifices we made, will change your attitude slightly." He gives Jesse a hard look, although there's amusement in his eyes. "It had better."

"What kind of sacrifices?" Jesse asks, grinning, ignoring the rest of his words.

Reyes' face closes off then, like a shutter has fallen over his expression, and Jesse realises he's gone too far. The commander is silent for a few seconds, and the atmosphere is thick with tension.

"That doesn't concern you," he says eventually. "Lesson's over. Go back to your room."

Jesse nods, once, and stands up quickly. He half-runs towards the door, wanting to get out before the shitstorm he's fearing happens.

"Kid..."

He turns around, seeing Reyes' crossed arms, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I forgot to tell you. Tomorrow morning, we're going to... see what you can do with a six-shooter."

Jesse's eyes widen. "Seriously?" _Finally_ he'll get to use a familiar gun instead of those rifles, and the thought makes him _so happy -_

"Yeah," he answers. "Be warned, though, if you try and shoot anyone you'll be dead in seconds. Clear?"

Jesse nods, and his mood deflates as quickly as it arrived with the threat. In that moment, he's been reminded that he's not trusted here.

Reyes adds, "If you don't fuck up, we'll start using revolvers more regularly. So don't fuck up, kid, because I hate teaching rifles as much as you hate using them."

Jesse says, "Okay."


	7. Hostage Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back from the dead with a brand-new chapter!
> 
> AND DOOMFIST IS HERE aka another talon agent yes please
> 
> also, a quick note to give all of you thanks for your comments that make my day <3 thanks so much, and i'm sorry the updates froze for a while! i'm a lot less busy rn so should have a lot more time for writing, so updates should be more regular now. :)

"Alright," Reyes announces as he strides into the training range, heading directly for the weapons wall. Jesse has to restrain a grin from splitting over his face as he sees the commander aiming for the section of the wall stocked with various revolvers, away from the section filled with rifles. Jesse's had enough of those damn things for several lifetimes.

Reyes turns around and beckons to the teenager. "Come on, kid. Time to shine."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "I get to choose one?"

"Temporarily," Reyes says, shrugging. "If you become a full Blackwatch operative, you'll get to keep one permanently."

"I'm not a full agent yet?" Jesse watches Reyes warily as it occurs to him that, if he's not officially an operative, he's not fully in Blackwatch yet. Reyes can go back on their deal if he's not technically a member of the organisation; can just stick him in prison like the others.

Reyes looks at him. "Of course not. Do you think we let in every criminal we recruit straight away?"

"No," Jesse mutters, staring at the ground.

Reyes' expression holds the faintest traces of a smirk as he says, "Choose a gun."

The teenager looks up and Reyes steps out of the line of sight between him and the weapons. The commander watches as Jesse steps up to the wall and runs his fingers over several of the firearms. There are all sorts there: older revolvers by more modern six-shooters, beside a couple of relics from before Jesse was born. He doesn't know why Overwatch has them in the armory, especially since they're so old they'd probably fragment on attempt of firing, but he looks them over all the same, considering every weapon on the wall. He's looking for something specific, he realises, but he doesn't know what it is. Then it hits him.

Jesse misses Peacekeeper. The six-shooter was perpetually dusty and always scuffed, but he's been relying on it for his whole life. Not having it feels odd; looking for another revolver feels even stranger, and he realises what's happening is he's trying, illogically, to look for an identical copy of his treasured gun. Jesse frowns, and hears Reyes clear his throat. Aware that the commander wants him to hurry up, he scans the wall of firearms again.

Jesse reaches for a nondescript-looking gun in the second row, less gleaming and more worn than most of the others. He can tell from his years involved in arms dealing that it's a fair bit older than the rest, too. He turns the six-shooter over in his hands, feeling the weight, running his fingers over the scuff marks all over it. Something just feels... _right_ about it.

"Decided?" Reyes asks, startling the teenager.

Jesse turns round. "Yeah. I think so."

Reyes nods, and reaches for a small silver case of bullets, handing it to Jesse. He shoves it in his pocket. "Get in the range, then."

Jesse does so, repeating the routine he's been subjected to over the past two weeks. Each session begins with Jesse slouching his way reluctantly into the training range, then taking out several bots as a warm-up. Reyes will run a few scenarios after that, forcing him to use cover or make a tactical decision, and almost every time ends with Jesse hollering foul-mouthed obscenities at the various rifles in his hands.

Except this time, he's holding a revolver.

Jesse grins as he walks into the training range, and tilts his hat further over his eyes.

"Alright," Reyes begins. "Standard drill; take them out."

A bot pops up in front of Jesse and he raises the revolver, lazily firing once and sending the bot sparking backwards. It falls to the ground as another appears, and the teenager shoots it instantly. The gun feels comfortable in his hand, fitting perfectly in with the grip he's developed over the years, and Jesse downs three more bots in rapid succession with ease.

Reyes' tone is blank, unimpressed, as he says, "Okay, kid. Let's try... hmm... okay." Something whirrs above Jesse and he twirls the gun in his hand idly, slotting a fresh five bullets from the case in his pocket into it.

A row of panels rises up in front of him, tall and white and different to the rocky blocks of cover he's been given before. Jesse stares as the panels slot together and form a high, square building. In the center of the front, there's a small door outlined in silver.

"What is this?" Jesse asks, eyes narrowed.

"You've been assigned a mission to retrieve a hostage from this location," Reyes explains. "This is time-critical, and you only have two minutes to complete your objective. Shoot to kill, and don't allow the hostage to be harmed."

Jesse blinks. "There are people inside that?"

Reyes makes a noise that sounds like a half-muffled laugh. "Not people, just training bots. These are more advanced, though, and they'll react exactly like people would. They're controlled by an AI, whom I think you've met."

"Athena?" the teen asks.

"Yup," comes the reply. "Get on with it, kid."

Jesse scowls, but grips his revolver anyway, approaching the door set into the pop-up building. He inhales for a second before he kicks the door, aiming the force directly above the handle. There's a crack and it flies inwards, and Jesse jumps into the doorway, spotting a bot in front of him and shooting it instantly. It sparks and crumples to the ground. Jesse steps over its remains, scanning the room for other opponents. It's empty save for the broken remnants of the training bot and a high doorway in the corner.

"Fuck's sake," he mutters, realising this isn't going to be as quick or simple as he'd hoped.

The two rooms that follow are just as blank and white as the original, and the first is devoid of enemies. In the second, though, Jesse shoots two bots while their backs are turned. He steps over their sparking remains into the doorway of the fourth room.

Jesse crouches low, sticks his head out as much as he dares into the next room, scanning for any bots. He sees only one, and he casually fires straight into its torso. He smirks as the bot drops.

And then there's a whirring sound and Jesse lets out a yelp as metal smashes into his back, catapulting him to the ground. He scrambles backwards, gripping his revolver as the hidden bot he _didn't see_ advances on him, and with a rushed exhale he shoots clean through its luminescent red eye. The bot drops with a thump, and Jesse takes a slightly shaky breath in and pushes himself to his feet, staring at the floor.

"Shit!" he curses, seeing the scorch mark sizzling just a few inches from where his head was. He takes a moment to orient himself, waiting for his breathing to calm.

Jesse kicks open the door to the final room and bursts through, gripping his gun as he raises it in the air, eyes flicking around the room and taking in the scene as fast as he possibly can.

Three bots are scattered throughout the room, turning to face him as he spots them, and a fourth has its blaster pressed against a smaller one's head. The smaller bot is painted red in contrast to the stark white of the others, and it has _HOSTAGE_ streaked across its chest in bold black lettering. Jesse raises his gun, tightening his grip, focusing until his vision narrows and it's just him and the gun and his four targets.

He takes a deep breath, and then he hesitates.

Jesse has sold his soul to Blackwatch these past weeks, has spilled nearly almost all of his secrets to them. The only thing he hasn't been forced to reveal is his past before Deadlock; they don't seem interested in that right now, but he knows that will eventually change. Apart from that, he only has one thing left they don't know about: his gift with a revolver.

His ma was the one who taught him to shoot when he was little. She never revealed that much about her past, but he knows she used to be a bounty hunter in Santa Fe. He doesn't know why she started, why she stopped, but she was always adamant he needed to learn how to protect himself. One of the tricks she taught him was how to take out multiple enemies at once, focusing so intensely that he became one with the gun, that it became an extension of him. She always used to call it a gift, passed on from her to him.

Jesse doesn't want Blackwatch to know about it, and the realisation strikes him like a thunderbolt. He doesn't want to give up the last secret he has. If he does that, Jesse knows with absolute certainty he'll lose himself.

He hesitates, and in that second one of the bots shoots a bolt straight at him. Jesse curses as it hits his arm, pain sparking along it, and he fires back at the robot. It skids across the floor as Jesse takes aim and shoots another directly in its single glowing eye, and then one of the final two bots turns straight to the hostage, jamming its blaster against the head, and Jesse freezes.

"Shit," he mutters faintly, knowing exactly what's about to happen if he doesn't time this right.

"Put the weapon down," comes a mechanised voice, startling Jesse.

He stares. "You _talk_?"

"Put the weapon down." The bot's tone is still robotically blank, identical to its previous command, but somehow the repetition makes it more aggressive. "Do not attempt to fire, or we will execute the hostage."

Jesse obeys slowly, hands open in surrender, still holding on to the gun. "I'm doin' it, okay, look," he says, locking eyes with the training bot nearest to the hostage as he gradually lowers himself to the ground. "Nice and slow."

_One. Two. Three._

Jesse leaps up and fires twice at lightning speed, and both bots are flung backwards with the force until they crash into the wall behind and collapse, sparking and destroyed, to the ground. He smirks, and then he catches sight of a wisp of smoke curling up from the side of the scarlet hostage bot. It sways for a second, and then it falls to the ground, revealing a smoking, charred hole in the side of its head.

The white walls fold around him, sliding down back into the floor as he stands there, in front of the fallen bot.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," he mutters.

"Yeah, sounds about right," comes Reyes' voice, threaded with anger, and Jesse turns around to see the commander striding towards him with a glare. "You failed. The hostage is dead. Now you tell me why."

Jesse scowls and gives a half-hearted shrug. "I don't know."

"Bullshit," Reyes says bluntly, folding his arms. His wide stance is the exact opposite of Jesse's irritated slouch. "You hesitated in the last room. Why? What the fuck were you thinking?"

Jesse stares mutinously at him, trying to resist the Deadlock-born urge to fire the gun still in his hand at the man who's staring down at him, expression stormy.

It would be so easy.

Reyes gives him a long, scrutinising look, narrowed eyes locked with Jesse's own. The teenager glares right back at him, scowling as the commander says nothing for several long seconds.

"Don't pull this shit again," Reyes says eventually, biting the words out. "The next time I ask you to do one of these sims, you do it to the best of your ability, all right? I don't think I need to tell you what happens if you don't succeed."

Jesse scowls, and jerks his head in a nod. Reyes points to the gun rack, and the teen crosses over to it and reluctantly slots the revolver back into its position.

"Oh, and kid?" Reyes calls, and Jesse turns. "Don't wear that fucking cowboy outfit ever again. I'll send another uniform over to your room, because I guess you must have lost it or something, and I'm _sure_ you're not simply refusing to wear it. That would make me _fucking angry_." His glare intensifies. "Now get out of here."

Jesse rolls his eyes and mutters a curse as he storms towards the door, wrenching it open and leaving the room as fast as he can, getting as far away as he can from Reyes and his dipshit simulations.


	8. Hiding Something

Jesse is the first to leave the range and Gabriel follows after, turning out the screen and the lights and heading back to his office in the dusky-dim night lighting of the base. They've spent an entire day in the training range, culminating in that disastrous final exercise, and it's nagging at Gabriel.

He's still not entirely sure where the voice inside him that yelled to save the kid, after he took down Deadlock, came from. Usually Gabriel trusts his gut, but on this occasion he's finding it difficult. Something doesn't add up about the kid; Gabriel can't figure him out, can't seem to understand his motivations. It doesn't help that he's a snarky little shit, either, or that he's obviously hiding something. He was doing perfectly up until the final room, and there's no reason he should have hesitated, should have failed.

The Blackwatch commander reaches the office and opens the door, heading straight for the chair behind his desk. The surface softly glows with blue light, and when he taps it it springs to life. Gabriel opens his most recent file, knowing he needs to get it done soon to avoid the UN having a tantrum about it. His commicator buzzes on his belt and he looks down at it, tilting the screen up without moving from his position and detaching the unit from its holder.

_JACK MORRISON: News from Adawe. The Deadlock members have all arrived at the prison. They're secure._

_JACK MORRISON: How's the kid doing?_

_GABRIEL REYES: Pretty much as expected, except for a couple of things. He obviously doesn't trust me, but he's not outright disobeying me._

_JACK MORRISON: Are you sure?_

Gabriel's heart sinks. Jack always uses that lead-in when he's confident he's caught someone out.

_JACK MORRISON: I've had multiple reports from Athena that, despite something half-blocking it, the smoke detector is going off almost daily in his quarters. The alarm's not going off, though. It's been disabled for that one particular room._

_JACK MORRISON: And the funny thing is, those reports get sent to you as well as me. Why haven't you stopped it?_

_GABRIEL REYES: He's just a kid, Jack. He deserves to let a bit of steam loose._

_JACK MORRISON: He's not a kid, he's a goddamn murderer! I told you all of this when you said you'd recruited him._

_GABRIEL REYES: And I told you, it's not his fault. I doubt he had many other options when he joined._

_JACK MORRISON: And do you know why exactly he joined? Do you know for certain he had no other options?_

Gabriel tugs at his beanie, unable to think of a response.

_JACK MORRISON: Exactly. You don't._

_JACK MORRISON: He's keeping things from you, Gabe. From Overwatch. We can't trust him._

_GABRIEL REYES: I know._

_JACK MORRISON: I don't think you do, though. Just because it reminds you of-_

Gabriel drops the communicator onto the desk with a clatter, and clenches his jaw. Jack _knows_ not to talk about that, knows that Gabriel isn't ready yet. He doubts he'll ever be.

The unit vibrates on the desk, moving slowly towards the left, and Gabriel picks it up reluctantly.

_JACK MORRISON: I'm sorry, Gabe. That was out of line._

_GABRIEL REYES: Yeah. It was._

There's a beat of silence, Gabriel gripping his communicator tightly, before it buzzes in his hand.

_JACK MORRISON: Where are you?_

_GABRIEL REYES: Office._

_JACK MORRISON: I'll be there in five minutes._

Gabriel puts the unit back down without replying and smirks. Jack always does this when Gabriel is working; when the Strike-Commander's in his office he hates being disturbed, but he regularly interrupts the Blackwatch commander's work. Gabriel doesn't mind, though. Jack provides welcome relief from the endless mounds of paperwork he always has to shift through.

One such example is the file open on his desk right now, an electronic report on his newest recruit.

 _RECRUITMENT REPORT_  
NAME: JESSE MCCREE  
AFFILIATION: BLACKWATCH  
STATUS: UNAPPROVED  
REPORT:

Gabriel sighs as he stares at the mostly-blank page. He always hates these reports; they take up so much of his time, yet the only reason the UN reads them is to make sure the recruit isn't in danger of killing anyone. They never comment on his notes, never provide any response to the reports that he spends hours over. Sometimes, he wonders if the real reason he's given them is punishment for taking on so many criminals and ex-gang members. After all, they certainly seem like punishment. Usually, he just types up some mediocre bullshit about their shooting skills or their cooperation, or some half-truth that keeps the UN off his back, but it still takes a while to do so. The reports can't be too similar, after all.

This particular file, though, Gabriel is having a hard time writing. He can't quite put his finger on it, but when he thinks through Jesse's performance so far something always seems... _off_.

And that's when it hits him.

The kid doesn't have a single extraordinary skill. Sure, he can shoot well, but there are thousands of people with that kind of ability if you know where to look. Ana's one of them; a deadshot with her rifle, the woman is _not_ one to piss off unless you want a sleep dart to the leg, and a hangover-type headache the next day. Jesse is a little less skilled than her, which is impressive considering his age, but by no means unique. Gabriel knows how gangs work, he knows how they think, and he knows for certain they wouldn't take in a twelve-year-old unless they had a damn good reason. Being able to shoot halfway straight can't be it. And that hesitation... it's still nagging at him. The kid had an opportunity there, although Gabriel doesn't know exactly for what, and he just let it go past without resistance.

"Commander Reyes?" Athena asks, and Gabriel raises his eyes from the still-empty file in front of him.

"Yes, Athena?"

The AI's tone is blank as she says, "Agent McCree has returned to his room."

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. He half-expected the kid to try and make a break for it, temporarily unaccompanied. "Thank you, Athena."

There's a pause, and briefly Gabriel thinks the conversation has ended. Athena startles him slightly when she speaks again. "Additionally, Strike-Commander Morrison is approximately twenty seconds away from your office."

"Is he really?" Gabriel says, smirking slightly.

He can almost hear a trace of amusement in the AI's voice. "Goodnight, Commander Reyes."

"Night, Athena."

As he finishes speaking, there's a firm knock on the door that resounds through the room. Gabriel reaches below his desk and clicks the button that deactivates his door's security protocols, the same system that protects every senior figure's office. It slides open, revealing Jack standing there in the doorway.

His straw-gold hair is messy, mussed up from running his fingers through it in that unconscious motion he makes when he's concentrating. It's one of the things Gabriel loves most about him. He's in his full Overwatch uniform despite the late hour, the blue coat hanging down behind him and silhouetting his figure as he leans against the doorway. His eyes crinkle slightly as he sees Gabriel, that particular vibrant blue that seems to be unique to him.

"What can I do for you, Strike-Commander?" he asks, leaning back with a smirk, and Jack grins.

"Just thought I'd come in and check on you," he replies, and saunters into the office.

Gabriel pushes his chair back slightly as he approaches, and Jack comes straight towards him and sits down. Despite his strength and fitness, he's surprisingly light, and the weight that settles on Gabriel's lap is comfortable as Jack leans into him.

Gabriel laughs. "I _was_ planning on doing some paperwork, you know."

"Come on, Gabe," Jack scoffs. "We both know the likelihood of you actually doing that."

Gabriel's only response is a mock-exasperated chuckle. "Fine."

"So how are things?" Jack asks.

"Great," Gabriel says, semi-sarcastically. "I've got a teenager on my team who doesn't trust anyone and fails training scenarios, and he's doing my fucking head in, honestly. It hasn't even been _two weeks_ yet, Jack, and he's fucking annoying as shit."

Jack twists round, an odd smile on his face. "You've been wanting to say that for a while, haven't you?"

Gabriel drags a hand down his face.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," sighs Gabriel. "He was doing fine up until the last room, and then just..." He shrugs, throwing his hands up. "He took down the bots, but the hostage got killed."

"Hmm." This is one of the things he loves about Jack. Whenever Gabriel needs it, Jack's there to listen.

"It was just weird," Gabriel continues, frowning. "He looked like he was about to do something special, and then he just hesitated and shot normally."

They sit in silence for a few seconds.

"You know the worst thing about him?" Jack asks absentmindedly.

Gabriel snorts. "The kid? Other than his shitty attitude?"

"He wears a _cowboy outfit_ , Gabe, for fuck's sake. He's almost an adult and he pretends to be a _cowboy_." Jack makes a noise that sounds somewhere between frustration and disbelief, and he shifts on Gabriel's lap. Gabriel smirks. "If I see that outfit one more time, I swear to God... You have told him to wear uniform, right?"

"Yup," Gabriel tells him, nodding. "He'll be in black from now on, I'm sure of it."

Jack twists round and grins at him. "Thank God."

Gabriel huffs a laugh.

Right then, a plan begins forming in his mind, a plan that looks suspiciously like a darker version of the kid's current outfit. He'd have to get rid of the stupid spurs, of course, but it suddenly occurs to Gabriel that as long as it's dark enough to be termed _stealthy_ there's literally no rule against it as a uniform.

This is going to piss Jack off _so much_ , and he has to restrain his laugh as he thinks about it.

"What are you grinning at?" the Strike-Commander asks, a growing smile on his own face as he sees Gabriel's expression.

"Nothing. Just..." Gabriel tails off as he stares at Jack, and his expression softens slightly as his dark eyes lock with Jack's bright cobalt ones.

"I love you too," Jack says, smiling, and he twists slightly to kiss Gabriel's forehead.

It's a strange thing they've developed, the mutual knowledge of the words Gabriel can't say. He's never been able to say them to Jack, even though they both know they're true, but luckily the Strike-Commander says it frequently enough for the both of them. The two commanders sit there for a few moments, content and lost in thought, before Gabriel breaks the silence.

"You know," he muses, looking off somewhere towards the wall, "I think there's a way to make the kid show me what he's hiding."

"What?" Jack asks.

"He's got a big sense of self-preservation; he accepted my offer to come here and avoid prison. If he thought he was in life-threatening danger, I bet he'd bust out whatever he's keeping secret."

Jack frowns at Gabriel. "I don't trust him, and I don't like him, but I'm not going to put him out on a proper mission when he can't even complete the training scenarios. It'd put the entirety of Blackwatch in jeopardy."

Gabriel shakes his head quickly, firmly, and elaborates. "It wouldn't be a proper mission. We could set up a... I don't know, a live scenario with agents that he _thought_ was a real mission. Nobody would actually be in any real danger."

Jack thinks it through for a moment, considering the risks, working through the logistics in his mind. "That... might actually work. It's a good idea."

Gabriel leans back further, smirks. "I have those sometimes."

Jack punches his leg lightly, laughing, and jumps up from his lap. "I better head off. I'm heading to Switzerland early tomorrow to meet with Petras, update him on Deadlock."

"I know," Gabriel replies drily. "You've complained about it every day since it got scheduled."

Jack rolls his eyes. "It's going to be a car crash. You do realise he's going to ask me about McCree, right? What do you want me to say?"

Gabriel makes a flippant gesture with his hand. "Tell him my report's coming soon."

"Night, Gabe," Jack calls over his shoulder, coat lifting slightly as he strides out the door.

"Bye, Jackie," Gabriel says, smirking as he looks down to his still-open file again.

 _RECRUITMENT REPORT_  
NAME: JESSE MCCREE  
AFFILIATION: BLACKWATCH  
STATUS: UNAPPROVED  
REPORT:

He stares at it for a second, before he swipes it off his desk, closing the report.

"Tomorrow," he mutters, reaching for his comm unit and composing a group message. He adds about twenty recipients one by one, all experienced Blackwatch agents.

_GABRIEL REYES: Meet tomorrow morning at 5:30 AM in the dropship for a new mission._

_HÉCTOR RAMIREZ: Understood._

_SAANVI KOYA: Clear._

After from the first two, the rest of the agents' replies trickle in as he's walking back to his room, mentally formulating a plan in his mind. A momentary spike of satisfaction streaks through Gabriel as each of his agents responds clearly, pleased that he's managed to produce this well-coordinated group out of ex-convicts and criminals.

The final thing Gabriel does is send a message to Jesse, telling him that he'll be away in the morning and that their training will be cancelled.

As he types, he asks, "Athena?"

"Yes, Commander Reyes?" Her response is instant.

Gabriel asks, "Could you keep an eye on Agent McCree for me tomorrow? He'll be largely unsupervised and I'd really appreciate it if you could tell me if he does anything out of line."

"Of course, Commander," the AI replies, and Gabriel nods in thanks even though he knows she can't see him.

"Thanks, Athena. Goodnight."


	9. It's Called a Rec Room

Jesse wakes up from a restless sleep to find a comm message from Reyes, cancelling their training and lessons for the day, informing Jesse that he's going on a mission and taking several of the Blackwatch agents with him. He's already gone by the time Jesse reads the message, and the teenager has no idea what to do with himself. The whole time he's been in Blackwatch has been comprised of strict routine and orders from Reyes, and this is the first time he'll be without that constant supervision. The Blackwatch commander has made sure Jesse knows there are still going to be people watching him, making sure he doesn't get into trouble, but it's not the same as having a continuous escort.

_GABRIEL REYES: Don't fuck anything up, kid. Athena tells me the second you do, clear?_

_GABRIEL REYES: Oh, and you had better wear your proper uniform. If you don't, I will personally fly back from the mission and kick your ass._

Jesse unlocks his door and steps outside, looking left and right along the corridor. He might as well explore the Watchpoint a little; he hasn't seen many of the facilities outside Reyes' office, his own room, the interrogation areas and the training range, and occasionally the medical centre. He pauses for a couple of seconds, waiting for someone to somehow pop up and tell him he's doing something he's not meant to, but they don't appear. Jesse sidles out of his doorway and walks away from his room, deeper into the Watchpoint.

He doesn't see anyone he recognises in the corridors as he strolls aimlessly through Grand Mesa: not Morrison, or Angela, or any of his numerous Blackwatch escorts. Nobody recognises him either, and he isn't stopped at all during his unsanctioned exploration; it must be the Blackwatch uniform. He just blends in. The sudden feeling of freedom and anonymity, in a sense, makes Jesse grin.

As he's observing the people walking by him, he spots a wide doorway to his left, and darts towards it. The biometric scanner by the door is pulsing white, almost encouraging him to try it, and with a shrug he does. The light flashes an emerald green as he touches his finger to it, and the door hisses open and Jesse pokes his head inside.

It's similarly coloured to the training range, although where the range gives an air of practicality and function, this room feels a little more homely. A few comfortable-looking sofas and armchairs are scattered around, and Jesse sees a small set of shelves in the corner of the space, near-overflowing with books. He steps fully inside the room.

"What is this?" he mutters to himself.

"It's called a rec room," comes a voice, and Jesse nearly yelps in surprise as he spins round to see a small girl looking intently at him, kneeling on one of the armchairs, resting her head on her arms, which are crossed over the back of the chair. Jesse stares at her, confused, trying to work out why such a young kid is here, and how he missed seeing her in the first place. From her voice and her height, she's probably only around twelve, thirteen; Jesse wonders if she's an agent's daughter or something.

"Uh... thanks," he says uncertainly, and the kid laughs.

She reaches up to tuck a few strands of braided, dark hair behind her ear, and Jesse notices a set of markings around her eye. "It's okay," she tells him, grinning. "I'm Fareeha."

Jesse stares at the tanned hand she thrusts out to him, and gingerly shakes it. The feeling of being somewhere he's not supposed to has increased tenfold with Fareeha's presence, and he's suddenly on edge.

"What's your name?" she asks.

"Jesse," he answers.

Fareeha raises an eyebrow. "Cool name. I've never met a Jesse before."

"You meet a lot of people?" Jesse mutters.

Fareeha shrugs. "Yeah. Mom moves around a lot, so..."

Jesse frowns slightly. "Your mom works for Overwatch?" he asks, unsure how much she knows about the organisation.

"Yup. She's a captain."

Before Jesse can ask Fareeha's mom's name, the door hisses behind him and he turns around to see a woman in a flowing blue coat stride in, silky dark hair fanning out behind her. He's struck by her similarity to Fareeha, identical right down to the near-matching markings on her eye, and he realises instantly this must be her mom.

" _Habibti_ , what are you doing here, I told you to stay in your room-"

The woman stops in the middle of telling her daughter off as she notices Jesse. She stops short, pausing in the middle of the room.

"You're the new Blackwatch recruit." It's not a question.

Jesse rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah."

"Are you not supposed to be somewhere?" asks Fareeha's mom, hands on her hips.

"Mom," groans Fareeha, burying her head in the chair. Jesse has to restrain himself from inexplicably laughing at her reaction. "We were just talking."

The woman looks at him again, re-appraising him, and doesn't speak for a second. She turns to her daughter and says something in a language Jesse doesn't recognise, and Fareeha replies in the same language, rolling her eyes. The mom repeats her earlier sentence, pointing to the door, and the kid huffs and gets off the chair.

"Jesse," Fareeha says, and the older teen turns around to look at her. "It was nice to meet you. You make this place less boring."

Jesse smiles. "You too, Fareeha."

He's pretty sure he mangles the pronounciation, but it makes the kid grin anyway, and she skips out of the rec room, the door sliding shut behind her. Her mom watches Jesse, arms crossed.

"I've seen you shoot in the training range," she says frankly. "Commander Reyes tells me your skills are likely why you were in Deadlock. I don't see it."

This woman doesn't piss around, then. And... people have been watching his training sessions?

"I am fully prepared to accept you into Overwatch if you mean to do good. I am aware you may currently be a little disoriented, and your shooting skills might not be up to your usual standard. However, if you're lying about anything regarding Deadlock, including your own abilities, I will not hesitate to end you."

Jesse swallows.

The woman's gaze hardens. "That does not come close to comparing to what I will do to you if you cause any harm to my daughter. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes, ma'am," Jesse answers. He hasn't ever called anyone that apart from his ma, years ago, but the way Fareeha's mom is telling him off reminds him of her. It seems appropriate.

The woman smiles at him warmly, catching him completely off guard. "Good. That's all I wanted to say." She extends her hand towards him, and Jesse understands where Fareeha picked up the gesture. "My name is Captain Amari. I'm Strike-Commander Morrison's second-in-command."

Jesse shakes her hand, feeling incredibly out of place and intimidated by the woman. "Y'already know my name, I guess. Jesse McCree. S'nice to meet you, ma'am," he finishes, rubbing the back of his neck slightly, dragging up memories of long-forgotten lessons of manners.

Amari laughs slightly. "Oh, I like you."

Jesse's face flushes slightly and he looks away. Something about this woman has rendered him completely and utterly off-guard, and he has no idea how to deal with the awkward atmosphere. His communicator buzzes then and Jesse grabs it, eager for the distraction.

_GABRIEL REYES: Get to the training range now. We're down an agent, and you're coming in as a replacement. I'll meet you there._

Jesse frowns. Amari raises an eyebrow at his expression, but Jesse's mind is whirring too much to care; something about this feels off. He literally just failed the hostage scenario, and he's sure that's not a good thing in any way, so why is he suddenly getting put on his first mission?

"What is it?" Amari asks, and Jesse's head snaps up as he stuffs his comm unit into his pocket.

"Uh, I'm joinin' the mission," he says.

Amari nods. "Good luck."

Jesse grins at her as he slips out of the room, retracing his earlier steps to get back to the area of the Watchpoint he knows relatively well. He reaches the training range in a couple of minutes, and it's completely empty.

"'Llo?" he calls, looking around for Reyes.

"Good, you're here," comes a voice from behind him, and Jesse turns to see the commander striding in. "Grab your gun from yesterday."

Jesse does as he says, crossing over to the wall of firearms and taking the scuffed six-shooter. Reyes beckons to him as he walks out of the room again, and Jesse hurries to catch up.

"Where are we goin'?" he asks.

Reyes says, "Greece. We're acting on intel concerning an arms deal going down near a town called Ilios."

Jesse nods. "What happened t'your other guy?"

"Got ambushed while scouting the area. He's come back with me in the ship, and he'll be treated here."

Reyes rounds a corner and presses his finger to a scanner, and the door labelled _HANGAR_ slides open. Jesse's jaw drops as they stride into a huge room, high-ceilinged and chrome-filled, the far wall little more than a giant, currently open hatch.. The space contains several ships lined up, some plastered with Overwatch logos and some entirely black. Jesse recognises the latter ones from the Deadlock ambush. Reyes goes straight for one jet-black dropship landed out of position right next to the hatch, and walks right into it. Jesse follows him closely, and as soon as he's inside Reyes yells towards the front of the ship.

"Go!" he shouts, and the hatch behind them closes with a clunk. Jesse jumps at the sound, at his sudden enclosure, as Reyes strolls casually over to a row of seats on the left wall. "Sit down, kid. And strap yourself in."

Jesse sits opposite the commander, fumbling with the cross-shaped straps around his torso and shoulders for a second before he manages to squeeze them together with a click. They tighten by themselves until they're snug but not restricting, and to his immense relief Jesse can still move around relatively freely. There's a whirr at that point and the entire ship starts to vibrate almost imperceptibly, but he can still feel it through his body. He's about to ask what's happening when suddenly the dropship takes off and the bottom drops out of Jesse's stomach.

"Holy fuck," Jesse curses, staring wide-eyed at the dropship floor as his heart flies into his mouth and his hands tighten around the straps.

Reyes looks up. "What?"

"Ain't never... never been in one o'these before," Jesse says.

The Blackwatch commander gives him a look with something Jesse can't name, and then he leans back. "Don't worry, kid. It'll pass."

"It better," Jesse mutters.

Opposite him, Reyes flips open a thin manila folder and holds up a photo. It shows a group of people in matching clothing, all dark colours branded with various luminous icons. "These people belong to a gang we believe are going to be trading arms to an unknown party. Our objective is to neutralise all the hostiles and recover the weapons, clear?"

Jesse nods.

"Good. You had breakfast, right?"

Jesse says, "Yeah. Got it in my room, like normal."

"Fine." Reyes looks down at the folder, conversation obviously over. It feels like hours to Jesse, sitting deaf and silent in the dropship, before the whirring starts up again and they drop to the ground.

"Thanks, Nik," Reyes calls towards the front of the dropship, and a hand appears from nowhere, giving him a thumbs up. Jesse cranes his neck to try and see the pilot.

"Now, here's some ammo and a silencer," Reyes says to Jesse. He produces a small black box and hands it over, and the teenager takes it. "Use it sparingly; it's all you're getting."

Jesse attaches the silencer, waiting for the secure click before he lets go and focuses on the pack of ammo. He frowns then, staring at it and the bullets visible in the top. He takes a bullet out, inspecting it, and something nags at him. It could be his imagination, but Jesse has learned to trust his gut. And right now, his instincts are telling him something isn't right.

"You alright, kid?" Reyes asks, frowning.

Jesse nods, snapping out of his thoughts. "Yeah."

"Okay," the commander says. "Then go that way, and turn right into a building. You'll find the others there," he finishes, pointing. Jesse nods again, and Reyes gives him a stare. "Good luck."

The teenager slips out of the shuttle as he loads his revolver, stuffing the pack of extra rounds into his pocket. The bright sunshine that greets him when he steps out is such a change from his now-normal routine stuck inside Grand Mesa that he gasps; the breeze on his skin feels magical. He hasn't been outside in _so long_ for fear that he might run (or, at least that's the reason he assumes it's for) and it's amazing finally getting out of the Watchpoint. Jesse jogs away from the dropship, around a slab of stone, and then he spots a building to his right. It's held up by pillars and slightly crumbling, but he goes in regardless, and he's greeted with about six agents crouching inside. They immediately turn to look at him, and one in the front beckons him forward with a glare.

"You McCree?" he asks coldly, once the teenager has made his way silently past the rest of the agents.

"Yeah."

The man grunts, and his glare intensifies. "I'm Ramirez. Stick close to me and don't fuck up."

Jesse grits his teeth. _Fuck you too._

Ramirez raises two fingers and beckons, and the unit stands and moves as one, Jesse caught in the centre. They strafe through the building until they're outside, then cross to a stone barrier just behind a large recessed area.

Ramirez, who Jesse realises is the leader, orders, "Move out around the courtyard. You," he hisses at Jesse, "stay with me."

Two agents peel off to cover each side, leaving Ramirez, Jesse and a woman in black camo to advance directly through the middle of the low area. They get through without making a single sound, and try as he might Jesse can't see any trace of the arms dealers. It doesn't help he's right at the back of their trio. Suddenly, Ramirez touches his ear and nods.

"Next barrier," he whispers, and the woman nods. Both ignore Jesse completely as they flip the safeties off their firearms. They're both carrying guns that look identical to the hated auto rifles Jesse has been practising with, although he can see they're fitted with silencers just like his own.

The four other agents rejoin the unit as they creep low just behind the barrier, and Jesse can already feel his thighs aching with all the crouching he's doing. He's never been one for stealth; Deadlock was always shoot first, questions later. They never needed to utilise surprise or secrecy, because guns were all they needed.

Ramirez mouths, "Three."

Jesse readies himself, taking a breath to steady himself.

"Two."

He readjusts his grip, hands settling into the comfortable worn positions they've been in for years.

"One."

One of the agents gives Jesse an unsubtle glare, and he stares right back.

"Go."

The Blackwatch agents leap out from behind the barrier, and instantly bullets start flying. Jesse sees at least ten opponents scattered around in front of them, clustered around a small silver box, before he takes aim and shoots one of them in the head. The gunshot cracks and his enemy crumples to the floor, and Jesse is about to aim again when the agent next to him suddenly lets out a grunt and falls backwards. Jesse jumps back, staring at the soldier, at his twisted expression, at the shoulder he's clutching with both hands.

The shoulder that isn't bleeding. At all.

Jesse narrows his eyes and stares, and he can't see a single trace of the supposed wound. Guns kill, guns make you bleed; Jesse has known that longer than he's known his own name. But this man isn't hurt at all, and as another agent rushes over and drags him away from the firing zone Jesse realises he must be _faking_ for some reason.

The teenager steps out from behind the stone wall again, aiming and shooting the gang member furthest from him. He goes down, head falling backwards first, arms flailing slightly. Jesse takes cover again, glaring at the ground with utter disbelief. There's no snap-back of blood, no arc of scarlet through the air from the bullet's force and impact area, and Jesse knows with absolute certainty the other side is faking too. And then it hits him.

"For _fuck's sake,_ " Jesse hisses, furious. This is a _fucking set-up_. It seemed dodgy from the start, really, Reyes 'needing' him to replace a wounded agent when the entire rest of Blackwatch and Overwatch were available, and his gut mistrusting the ammo he got given. He shoots the wall directly in front of him, and the bullet that lodges in the stone is light and barely impacts it. They're shitty plastic _training bullets_.

Suddenly, Ramirez goes down with a pained grunt next to him, and he hisses, "You're on your own. There are five left. You think you can do it?"

Jesse responds snarkily, "Yeah, if I had real bullets."

The team leader glares at him even harder. "Fuck," he curses. "This whole fucking thing is a bust then, is it?"

"Yeah, it is," Jesse says coldly.

Ramirez gets up again, and just as he's about to communicate something to the other side - the other side, who must just be more agents - his brow creases. "What the fuck?" he hisses, and then his face blanches. "Oh, _shit_."

Jesse says, "What?"

"Talon," Ramirez breathes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well this went to shit quickly didn't it
> 
> quick question: would y'all prefer long chapters and less frequent updates or shorter posts more often? my current schedule is working okay but if i need to change it i'd love to know what you'd prefer.
> 
> thanks so much for all your kudos and comments! <3


	10. Reach for the Sky

"Talon? The hell is that?" Jesse asks, his frown deepening.

Ramirez ignores him completely, signalling to the other side silently. Jesse can't tell anything they're signing, but then the 'gang members' nod with looks of grim understanding, and they disappear from his view. Jesse frowns and peeks for a second above cover. He can't see anyone anymore, and he sure as shit can't see whatever Ramirez is so worried about. He's about to ask, when suddenly there's a huge rustling noise and Jesse's head whips round to see the entirety of the Blackwatch agents, both good guys and supposed gang members, sprinting away from him.

"Fuck you all," Jesse hisses as he turns to run after them. Suddenly, bullets ring out and the agents duck slightly and sprint even faster, and Jesse freezes in the shadow of his cover.

"After them!" comes a roboticised voice, and Jesse's eyes go wide. _What the fuck?_

He jerks his head around the corner of his cover for a second, and spots a group of soldiers with arctic-white helmets and glowing red eyes, holding rifles and sprinting after the Blackwatch agents. One of them spots him and yells, raising his gun, but Jesse is already sprinting for his life into the building to his right. Bullets thud above him and his breathing comes heavily as he skids into the pillared structure and bolts across a walkway, over the recess, into the second crumbling ruin of a building.

"Move out. Find him!" The soldier's robotic voice makes Jesse's blood run cold, and he realises they're looking for him. He's going to be discovered and then he's going to die because he has _fucking plastic bullets_.

Jesse tries to breathe and calm down, and then a hand seizes his shoulder and pulls him backwards, snatching his revolver away and sending him toppling to the ground. He lashes out blindly at his attacker and then his arm is grabbed and twisted around, and a hand clamps around his mouth as his arms lock painfully behind his back and he struggles to get out, to get away -

"Kid! Kid, calm down, it's me," Reyes hisses, pausing for a moment before he releases Jesse. He scrambles away from the commander's touch, swiping his gun up from the floor, staring at Reyes with undisguised shock. The commander crouches behind cover, two black shotguns lying on the ground beside him.

"What are you doin' here?" Jesse asks incredulously. " _How'd_ you get here?"

Reyes frowns at him. "I came back to get you. And here, take these." He tosses another pack of bullets at the teenager.

Jesse's expression is creased in confusion, and he opens his mouth to ask, "Why? Why come get me?"

"The fuck do you mean, why? You're an agent, however unofficial or annoying. I never leave an agent behind." Reyes is staring at him with an indiscernible mix of emotions, half-hidden behind battle-born calmness.

"Heh." Jesse's laugh is acerbic and bitter as he closes his eyes, tipping his head back slightly. "That's a new one."

Reyes says nothing for a second before he shifts, and Jesse hears movement. He opens his eyes to see Reyes peering around the wrecked wall they're currently cowering behind, and his eyes narrow at whatever he sees.

"Shit," he mutters darkly.

Jesse frowns. "What now?"

Reyes slides back to the ground, concealed once again by their cover. "Reinforcements have arrived. I cut through them on my way here, but they've reappeared." His head pops above the stone again and he comes back down almost immediately, cursing as a bullet thuds into the wall behind them. " _Fuck_ , they know we're here. Listen, kid, you make a run for it -"

Jesse says, "No."

It takes the commander a moment to deduce the unspoken intent behind his words. "Don't you fucking dare," Reyes hisses, seeing the determination in his eyes, the revolver ready in his hand. "McCree, you try and shoot them and you'll get killed."

Jesse shrugs. "Be honest, what's the chance of me survivin' anyway?" Reyes glares at him, but stays silent, and Jesse takes it as an indication to carry on. "If I go down, I can take some of 'em with me, at least." He scoops up the bullets. "These are real this time, right?" he asks, already reloading his revolver.

Something flickers across Reyes' face, too fast for Jesse to name, and his voice is hard when he speaks again. He doesn't even look surprised at this point that Jesse's figured out the 'mission' wasn't real. "Yes. But as your commander, McCree -"

"Don't try and tell me I can't fuckin' do it. It's my life," retorts Jesse, equally fiercely. A spray of bullets peppers the wall behind them, and Jesse's eyes narrow. "How many are there?"

Reyes says, "Kid -"

" _How many?_ "

The commander sighs. "At the very least ten, but there'll be more on the way."

Jesse thinks it through for a second, and then a half-smirk creeps its way onto his face. "Easy." He tugs his hat further down on his face, taking a breath to steady himself, and Reyes opens his mouth to say something.

Jesse launches to his feet and sprints sideways, and the group of soldiers turn to him, shouting and spraying bullets. The teenager shoots twice and runs behind a crumbling, slanted piece of pillar, reloading his gun as he does so, and from the gargled cry that erupts he knows he's killed one. He hears a muffled curse and several more gunshots beside him, and he realises Reyes must have followed him out too.

A thought crashes into Jesse then. Multiple soldiers clustered together, a six-shooter in his hand. He could, he _should_ , use his gift on them.

Or, he could run.

Jesse glances at Reyes from behind cover, and the expression of cool anger on his face is startling. His twin shotguns blast through a soldier as Jesse watches, and the man's cry shakes him out of his thoughts just as he sees a soldier come up behind Reyes and press the cold barrel of his gun to his head. The commander goes still, and drops his guns.

Jesse could run right now, could escape Blackwatch and snatch back his freedom. Reyes is distracted, and the soldiers are too. Nobody is looking at him, nobody is watching him.

He could be _free_.

"Commander Reyes. Where's the other one?" one of the soldiers says roughly, voice distorted slightly through the white mask.

"Fuck off," Reyes replies calmly, and the soldier holding him hostage smacks the gun's butt against his head.

The first operative repeats, "Where is the other one? If you tell us," he says, leaning in, "we'll make it quick. As a favour."

Reyes grins. "I bet he's long gone. And if he's not," the commander continues, raising his voice in a way Jesse knows is for him, "he's a fucking idiot, and he should run now while he still has the chance."

The soldier's head jerks round, searching for Jesse, and the teenager quickly ducks back out of sight. Reyes could have sold him out and he _didn't_ , and his death is going to be long and painful because of it. He kept Jesse safe.

The teenager grits his teeth, and inhales.

"Reach for the sky," he mutters, and with one step he slides out of cover and into full view of the soldiers. He raises the six-shooter as Reyes' eyes widen in a _why-the-fuck-are-you-still-here_ sentiment, and in that split second he sees two of the soldiers raising their rifles to point at him.

_One two three four five six._

Jesse fans the hammer and shoots six bullets, and the shots ring deafening in the hostage-induced tension. The six soldiers remaining sway slightly on their feet, and for one moment nobody moves.

Then they collapse, and the perfect circles in the centres of each one of their foreheads trickle with red.

Jesse exhales and reholsters his revolver, stabbing pain shooting through his head. He presses a palm to his eye, grimacing with the sensation his gift always leaves him with, and takes a steadying breath before he looks up. Reyes, the only man left standing, is frozen in front of him with utter shock etched across his face. He stares at Jesse like he's some kind of alien, and Jesse realises his expression is filled with distrust.

"What," the commander says slowly, "was that?"

Jesse scowls. "I shot them."

Reyes' intense gaze is fixed on Jesse, though, and he takes a step forward and grabs the teeanger's arm. He tries to pull away, but the Blackwatch commander's grip is like iron. "Don't play stupid with me. That wasn't normal shooting. Tell me what the fuck just happened."

"Lemme go!"

"Not until you explain to me what the hell you did," Reyes growls.

Someone shouts, close by, and Jesse's head jerks in its direction.

"Shit," Reyes hisses. "They're here already. Stay close, okay, kid?"

Jesse nods as Reyes releases him. _Stupid, stupid, you shouldn't have done that-_

Reyes starts sprinting, and Jesse snaps back to reality as he runs blindly after him, running straight over pieces of stone and pillar, steps thudding through his brain. They're halfway through the ruin when Reyes starts yelling something into his comm, but Jesse can hardly hear it with his heartbeat filling his ears. He has never run this fast, _never_ , and any minute he's going to collapse. He has to keep going, though, has to keep running-

"Kid, come on!"

Jesse looks up to see Reyes crouched just behind the dropship door, already whirring and powering up, stretching his hand out. Shouts echo behind him and he twists to see a second group of white-masked, red-eyed soldiers sprinting after him.

"McCree, get your ass in here _right now_!" Reyes hollers.

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut and pumps his legs harder, adrenaline racing through his body, and suddenly he collides with something hard and someone is shouting for them to go, and Jesse feels the sickening sense of rising upward as the dropship whirs upwards. Shots ping off the side of the ship and Jesse gasps for air, trying to fill his empty lungs as he lies on the cold floor of the shuttle.

Reyes grabs him, turns him round and checks him over. "Are you injured?"

Jesse nods, breathless as he pulls away from the commander's grip. "No, I... Jesus fuckin' Christ..."

Reyes huffs. "When we get back, we're adding fitness training to your schedule."

Jesse closes his eyes and groans.

"And," Reyes adds, "don't think I've forgotten about... whatever the hell that was. As soon as we touch down we're talking about it, clear?" His expression has turned stonily serious. Jesse swallows and nods, finally having regained his breath. "Good. Now go sit in the corner."

"Wait, why?" Jesse asks, frowning.

Reyes scowls, and points to the empty seat in the corner of the dropship. "Just do it."

Jesse's brow is creased as he makes his way over to the free space and sits down, rubbing his eye as he does so. His shooting headache has mostly faded, but the prickling pain behind his eye is still persisting. He rubs it, grimacing. Someone clears their throat and Jesse looks up at the front of the dropship, along with all the other agents on the ship, all Blackwatch operatives. Reyes is standing there in the centre of the ship, arms crossed and expression stormy.

"Today was _unacceptable_ ," he says, tone serious and angry. "I'm not talking about the bad recon, although that's a serious fuck-up, and we will be having words later," the commander adds darkly, directing his gaze straight at a pair of agents to his left. "No, I'm talking about the fact that you left someone behind."

The room's tension is almost palpable, and it feels oppressively huge to Jesse.

"Let me make this clear. I do not give a _fuck_ what any of you did in the past. I don't care if you have problems with each other. However, I will not tolerate that affecting missions. Today every one of you left Agent McCree on his own to face Talon."

Jesse's face heats up slightly and he resists the urge to rub the back of his neck, knowing the motion will attract attention and stares to his position.

"I am fully aware how many people he injured in the Deadlock sting. For fuck's sake, Mina only just got out of medical. I understand most of you don't like him. But," Reyes says, enunciating the 't', "that is an _unacceptable_ reason to leave him behind in the field. If I _ever_ see _anyone_ do that again to _any agent_ , there will be _serious consequences_."

The Blackwatch commander's coldly angry lecture continues for a couple of minutes, and by the end Jesse's face is flaming red. He's reeling slightly from the shock of seeing Reyes come back for him, then lie to keep him safe, and finally shout at the entire operation for leaving him behind.

_If ya get left behind, Jesse, it's your own fault. We ain't comin' back to get ya._

But the way Reyes is acting, it's not his fault. It's theirs, the agents who abandoned him in the middle of the ruins. Jesse can't wrap his head around it, and he pushes the contradiction out of his mind as Reyes stops talking and strides to the front of the dropship to sit down.

The rest of the journey back to Grand Mesa is tense, silent and uneventful. Jesse nearly dozes off at one point, exhausted from shock and sprinting, but he's jerked awake again by the clunk of the dropship landing. The Blackwatch agents filter out quickly as Jesse fumbles with his harness, and, by the time he's managed to pinch the release in just the right way and the restraints slither back into the seat, he's one of the last three on the ship.

"McCree," Reyes calls as he turns to leave. "Come with me."

Jesse follows as the Blackwatch commander strides down the dropship's ramp. "Where are we goin'?"

Reyes says, "You'll see."


	11. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for missing last week's update! i've just started college and boy is it Stressful lol
> 
> in other news this chapter is the first of several containing french, which i am nowhere near as good at as spanish - if any french speakers reading spot mistakes, i'd really appreciate pointing them out <3
> 
> thanks for all your continued support and great comments!

Reyes leads him through Grand Mesa in relative silence, walking past the parts of the facility that Jesse knows well. Once they reach the turning for the sleeping areas, the commander makes a sharp right and brings him to a large, open hall filled with chatting people.

"This is the mess hall," he tells Jesse. "You can come here to eat from now on."

The cowboy frowns. "Wait, you don't eat in your rooms?"

"No one does, except for a few special cases. Like newly-recruited ex-criminals."

"So why didn't I come here before?" Jesse asks.

Reyes smirks. "Only authorised agents have access. And you were unapproved."

Jesse frowns. "What, so I'm suddenly a full agent, am I?"

"You didn't run away," Reyes says, suddenly serious. "You could have, but you didn't. Don't think I didn't notice, kid. That makes you an agent in my book." He shrugs. "And you took on Talon in your first mission and didn't die. So."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "That's reassurin'."

Reyes checks his watch. "We're in the tail end of lunch now, kid. Go and grab something to eat."

"Seriously?" Jesse asks. "Anythin'?" He stares at the counters inside the cafeteria, laden with hot food under bright lamps, and the clean tables lined with noisy, happy people.

"Yeah, anything." Reyes almost laughs, but when he sees the shocked expression on Jesse's face the chuckle dies in his throat.

"Really?" The teenager's eyes are wide with disbelief. "Never got anythin' like this in Deadlock. It was... y'know, whoever got there first."

Reyes frowns. "That won't ever happen here, McCree. Now go eat, and meet me in my office when you're done. Take as long as you need."

The cowboy rubs the back of his neck. "Uh... thanks," he mutters, face flushing slightly. He walks into the cafeteria without looking back.

A sign points him left, and he turns to see stacks of grey trays lined up by boxes of cutlery. He takes one of each, moving over to the long, lit counters laden with food and lined by silver bars, staring at all the options with widened eyes. Jesse hasn't seen this much food in one place in his entire life. As he stares, someone taps his shoulder and he turns, startled.

"Hello, Jesse."

"Uh, hey. Angie, right?"

"Angela," she replies, setting down a tray on the bars and smiling at him. "How are you?"

Jesse nods. "Alright, yeah. You?"

Her smile widens. "Good. I haven't seen you in here before," she says, phrasing it like a question.

The cowboy rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I... ate in my room before."

Angela nods, still beaming. "Well, you're here now. What are you going to have?" she asks.

"Dunno." Jesse shrugs slightly as he stares at the counter in front of him. There's a huge tray of chili next to a stack of burger buns and patties, and some sort of pasta labelled vegetarian. "Guess the chili." He takes the spoon and digs into the tray, dropping a huge portion onto his plate with a wet-sounding smack.

Angela giggles. "You must be hungry," she says, reaching for the pasta spoon.

"We never had this much in... uh, where I came from," Jesse defends, avoiding mentioning Deadlock at the last second. He's pretty sure Angela doesn't know his origin, based on how nice she is to him, and he'd like to keep it that way.

She grins. "Don't eat too much, remember, or you'll be sick."

Jesse rolls his eyes, although he's smiling. "Yeah, yeah."

Angela laughs again. Her eyes flick down to her wrist then, and her face falls slightly. In the next second, though, her bright smile is back, and she says, "It was great talking to you, Jesse, but I have to go. I've just hit the beginning of a breakthrough with my research into biotics, you see, and I'm hoping to write my thesis on it at medical school. So," she continues, turning to grab a couple things from the salad bar opposite the counter, "I have to go back to work while I'm still focused."

"See you 'round, then, Angie," Jesse replies, and she rolls her eyes at the nickname he's given her.

She walks off quickly, the tray nearly slipping from her grasp as she hurries off, and Jesse laughs as he sits down at the nearest table. His chili isn't the best he's ever had, but it's a damn sight better than the Panorama Diner's usual, and it takes him less than five minutes to scarf down, relishing the fullness in his stomach. Only a couple of minutes later, as he's walking back to Reyes' office, does it occur to him the commander hasn't eaten at all.

On his way, Jesse's mood decreases significantly. The events of the fake mission have taken on a slightly surreal quality, and he can't quite believe he used his gift in front of Reyes. The one thing that still belonged solely to him is no longer his. By the time he's reached the office, Jesse is mentally kicking himself, attempting and failing to come up with an explanation to bluff through the questions Reyes is guaranteed to ask about it.

The door is open, and Jesse walks through slightly apprehensively. Reyes looks up as the teenager enters, and briefly points to the chair opposite his desk before resuming his typing.

"One second," he mutters, a frown creasing his scars as he taps on his desk, and swipes once. A couple of moments pass before he looks up, and the screen on his desk fades. "Right, let's start."

Both of them speak at the same time.

"What did you do to those soldiers?" asks Reyes.

"Why the fuck did you send me on a fake mission?" Jesse blurts.

Reyes sighs and Jesse crosses his arms, staring mutely at the commander.

"You first," the cowboy says.

"I needed to test your skills in the field," Reyes answers reluctantly, tugging at his beanie. "It was obvious you were hiding something, and I needed to get you to show it."

Jesse's gaze is hard. "So you decided to give me fake bullets against real enemies?"

Reyes' brow creases. "That wasn't part of any plan I had, I promise you."

"You expect me to believe they just magically showed up?" Jesse isn't sure where his good mood after Angela has vanished to, nor where his anger at Reyes is coming from, but he's damn sure not going to stop until he gets a real answer.

Reyes sighs, kneading his forehead. "We don't know how they knew we were going to be there." He hesitates for a moment, eyeing Jesse. The teenager stares right back at him. "Our best guess at the moment is they breached our communications, found out when and where the training was happening."

Jesse scowls. "Who were they?"

"An organisation called Talon. Agents usually only learn about them in detail if they're chosen for the task force, but I'm making an exception due to your firsthand experience." Reyes takes a breath. "Their goals are mostly unclear, but we think they want to destabilise the peace we've established since the Crisis."

"Didn't you see them before?"

"The recon was bad," Reyes explains. "Must have been. The simplest explanation is they knew we were coming, and they made sure to wait out of sight."

Jesse's frown deepens. "Are your agents just really shit then, or what?"

Reyes shakes his head. "I've answered enough questions, kid. You owe me an answer." He leans forward, staring at Jesse intensely. The teenager shifts. "What did you do to those agents?"

Jesse looks down. "I... don't know."

The commander's gaze hardens slightly. "Don't try and bullshit me."

"No," Jesse blurts, "I mean I don't know. I don't know how it happens. I just... focus on them, and then..." He trails off. "Then they're all dead."

Reyes is silent for a moment, and the air feels stuffy in Jesse's throat. Eventually, he says, "We're going to change your schedule. Now you're a full agent, you can train with the others without me in the morning. But, kid, every day we are going to work on whatever you did."

"What?" Jesse says, aghast.

"You took out six enemies at once. I can do that, and I've been fighting my entire life. You've been shooting for what, five years?"

"Longer," Jesse mutters under his breath.

"What you can do is exceptional," Reyes continues, seemingly not hearing him, "and I won't let you fight without having every possible tool at your disposal. None of my soldiers are allowed to do that, understand?"

Jesse nods mutely.

"Good," Reyes says. "I want you back here in two hours to start practising, alright? There's something I have to take care of first."

Jesse nods again, and gets up. As he turns to leave, there's an electronic beep and a smooth, accented voice cuts through the air.

"Gabriel, I take _one day off_ and you get ambushed by Talon!" Jesse recognises the accent from one of the men in Deadlock. French. "How do you do it, _mon ami_?"

"Tech thinks they got into our comms." Reyes gets straight to the point.

"Ah, that's why you're calling on the secure line."

Reyes looks up then, and sees Jesse still standing there. He points to the door, raising his eyebrows as he does so, and Jesse gets the unspoken order to get out.

As he leaves the office, he's struck by the sudden realisation he doesn't want to go back to his room and spend the hours attempting to get Athena to talk to him. Jesse looks left and right, seeing the various factions of people in blue, black and white uniforms. He could go talk to Angela, but she made it obvious earlier she's busy. The only other people he knows are the commanders and Amari, and... Fareeha.

By the time he's reached the rec room, Jesse is seriously questioning himself. He's actively seeking out the company of a twelve-year-old while he's inside an organisation that he's been told is bad his entire life. He had an opportunity to run earlier, a perfect out, and he rejected it because of one asshole commander. There's a hollow feeling in his gut, a feeling of self-betrayal. He doesn't know how to make it stop, but suddenly it occurs to him that talking to some random kid won't make it better.

Jesse turns, and starts walking back to his room.

______________________

  
Two hours later, Jesse is standing in the middle of the training range with a revolver in his hands, six bots in front of him, and Reyes standing with folded arms next to him.

"How many times have you done this before?" the commander asks in a blank tone. He's barely spoken to Jesse so far, and the teenager knows he must be in a bad mood.

"Dunno," Jesse answers. "A lot, I guess."

Reyes nods. "Alright. Do it, then."

Jesse stares at him. "I can't just... do it on command."

"Yes you can."

Jesse shakes his head, confounded. "I can't. I need to... be in the moment."

Reyes hums for a moment. "Fine." He strides away and Jesse's jaw drops slightly as he retreats and clicks something on his comm unit.

There's a beep and the bots in front of him whirr to life, guns snapping up to point right at him.

"Do it right now or I'm going to order the bots to fire, and it's going to hurt like a bitch." Reyes says loudly, voice carrying easily over the sounds of the pieces of scrap clicking to attention.

"For fuck's sake, you _cabrón_ ," Jesse curses, balling his fist. "This isn't going to work."

Reyes shrugs. "Then you'll learn some pain tolerance."

Jesse glares daggers in his direction. "I'm going to fucking kill you."

"Try it, I dare you. You won't even get close."

 _Jesus Christ_. Jesse stares at the commander, arms crossed, shoulders broad, expression dark. _The hell happened to_ him _?_

"Focus, McCree. Do it now."

Jesse stares at the bots, raising his revolver, focusing hard. He's experienced the fizzing pain of one bot's bolt already, and he has no desire to feel six at once. In his mind, their red eyes glow and grow, becoming bright circles, targets. Jesse narrows his eyes, flipping his arm up above the revolver, and the targets flicker. Jesse stares harder, willing them not to disappear. They flicker again - like candles, Jesse thinks - and his focus shatters entirely as his mind wanders.

His eyes widen as the bots click again and one of them fires, and Jesse dives out of the way, hitting the ground behind a raised section of floor. He peeks out, seeing the six bots slowly advancing on his cover, and takes a breath in.

The first time he discovered his gift was when he was ten, a year into learning to shoot. His ma used to be a bounty hunter, and she taught Jesse to fire her old gun, practising way out in a deserted area just outside of Santa Fe. After Jesse took down a whole row of targets in seconds, she realised that something wasn't normal. He still remembers her trying to coax him into doing it again.

_Breathe, mijo. You can do it._

Jesse breathes, and something inside him sharpens. He looks at the bots again, and the glowing eyes shine like beacons. He steps out and narrows his eyes, and he fans the hammer.

_One two three four five six._

The bots drop in smoking piles before him, and suddenly Reyes is standing right next to him again as pain stabs through his head. Jesse curses under his breath, kneading his forehead and hoping the pain will fade soon.

He nods, smirking slightly. "Well done, kid."

Jesse crosses his arms, but something warms inside of him. "No thanks to you," he retorts, missing his usual snark.

Reyes snorts. "Fine. Run it again, then."

"Motherfucker," Jesse mutters.


	12. Progression

"Thirteenth of October 2056, session number 11052. Present are Chén Lí and Jesse McCree. Session begins."

Jesse slouches in a hard-backed chair, opposite his raven-haired interrogator. It's his eighth or ninth session so far; he's lost track a little. After the first few they all seem to blend into one, with the same questions and the same people and the same routine. He suppresses a yawn and kneads his eyes; the pain from using his gift multiple times hasn't faded, even an hour later, and his vision is slightly blurred from the stabbing pain.

Chén says, "We're going to be doing something different today. I'm going to show you several pictures, and you're going to tell me if you recognise them from Deadlock or not."

Jesse nods. "A'ight," he drawls, slurring the vowels together and earning an unimpressed look from his interrogator.

Chén flips open a folder and takes the first photo, turning it over and showing it to Jesse. "Let's begin with Subject 1. Who is this?" they ask.

The picture shows a muscular blonde-haired woman with cropped hair hanging to her collarbones, caught in mid-movement from far away. Jesse squints.

"Looks like Shell," he tells them. "Joined up 'bout a year ago." After this many sessions, Jesse's learnt exactly what they want from him: as many details as possible. He always explains everything he can. It means that instead of asking if Jesse can give any further information, Chén can just move on, and the sessions take up less of both their time.

The photo vanishes, and another one appears. It shows a close-up of a skinny guy with tribal-like tattoos. "Subject 2," says Chén.

Jesse shrugs. "Never seen him."

"Subject 3." This time, it's an Asian man with stern features. Jesse narrows his eyes at the photo. He could swear he's seen him before. "Subject 3," repeats Chén, when Jesse doesn't respond.

The teenager says, "I know him, but I ain't got a clue where from."

Chén hums slightly. "This is the current head of the Shimada Clan, an organisation in Japan. We believe they might have links with Deadlock."

Jesse frowns. "Haven't heard of 'em, but I've seen the guy."

They nod, setting the photo aside into a separate pile, and the session continues.

Jesse identifies about half of the photos shown to him, a mixture of Deadlock members and regular suppliers. Part of him wonders exactly how Blackwatch get their information, but he guesses if they're as black ops as Reyes makes them out to be they must have informants. By this time, after this many interrogations, Jesse feels almost desensitised to the whole process. A Deadlock never squeals, but he's done just that. He doesn't fully belong in Blackwatch, and he's no longer part of Deadlock, and he doesn't quite know where he's meant to be. The thought makes him feel hollow.

Chén ends their session right on time, telling him to follow as he leaves the room. Jesse trails after him until they reach a huge hangar door, and Chén scans his finger and the metal sheeting slides upwards.

A huge hall lies before Jesse, lit with bright, sparkling floodlights, the floor covered in coloured markings. A tight-knit bunch of people in black are clustered in the centre of the hangar, chatting loudly and elbowing each other.

Chén prompts him forwards. "Commander Reyes has decided you'll start training with the other agents."

Jesse stares at him. "Seriously?"

The interrogator's only response is a nod as he swivels on his heel and walks away, leaving Jesse staring at the collection of soldiers. As he enters the room, every head turns to stare at him and the chatter dies. The teenager grits his teeth.

A broad-shouldered man with fire in his eyes comes over, looking Jesse up and down. The teenager is suddenly conscious of his own lanky form. "You McCree?"

Jesse nods.

The man points at the other agents, who have moved from staring at Jesse to shouldering on huge rucksacks on their backs. "Go get a pack."

Jesse walks over and grabs the straps of one of the packs, and as he lifts it he gasps with exertion.

_Fuckin' hell!_

The military-coloured bag almost weighs more than him, and Jesse's skinny frame shakes slightly as he grunts and heaves it upwards, slinging it over his shoulder. The force pressing down on his back nearly buckles his knees, but as he slips his other arm through the strap it evens out slightly. He inhales, shifting slightly, the weight bearing down on him, and takes in the room.

A long, oval-shaped circuit runs around the outskirts of the hangar, the lap starting and ending at his current position. His eyes widen as he sees the sprint sections marked in red, the sets of irregularly-spaced stairs running up and down, the tunnels and beams; there's even a long aerial section that reminds Jesse of the monkey bars he used to play on. His jaw nearly drops at the sheer, smooth wall towards the far end of the course, tall and wide with no visible handholds.

"Alright, agents. You know the drill," comes a voice, and Jesse turns to see the broad-shouldered soldier standing with folded arms in front of them. The chatter dies, and the other Blackwatch agents turn to face him. "Ten laps as fast as you can. Run through the whole thing. No skipping, no get-outs, no cheating. And the most important rule..." He stops, and glares at Jesse. "No stopping."

The teenager stares back at him with something approaching disbelief in his eyes.

_No fuckin' way. I can't do this._

Then the officer shouts, and the agents around him explode from their standing positions, sprinting towards the first obstacle. Jesse's eyes go wide and he runs after them, each step making the ridiculously heavy pack bounce on his shoulders, each movement sending jarring weight through his body. He's panting before he even reaches the first obstacle, a curved tunnel, and he drops to the floor with a thump as he crawls through it on his forearms. He's out and up again and running, breathing heavily as he reaches a course of stepping stones set several feet of the ground. He thanks his stars when he doesn't slip once, and then the officer is yelling at them to run faster.

Jesse puts his head down and _runs_.

It takes ten minutes for him to reach the final obstacle, the huge wall, and he's been lapped by several Blackwatch agents, all shooting him disdainful glances as they sprint past him. He stops before it, staring up as next to him an agent kicks onto the wall and pushes himself off with his foot, vaulting over the top and landing on the other side. Jesse's mouth goes dry as he runs towards the wall and aims for the same spot as the agent, and he raises his foot and attempts to plant it and runs facefirst into the wall.

"Mother _fucker_!" he hisses, hand flying to his face.

"Move on, agent!" the officer shouts, spotting his inability. Face burning with pain and embarrassment, Jesse runs around the wall.

The rest of the exercise is much the same, except the pack grows heavier and Jesse's breathing gets more laboured the longer it gets on. Jesse is on his sixth lap by the time the final Blackwatch agent has finished their tenth, and he's there for what feels like hours afterwards. When he finally manages to complete the course, he's almost about to pass out from sheer exertion.

He passes three days in that special hellhole of gruelling exercise and protracted interrogation, staggering back to his quarters each day to collapse into his bed, eating tiny five-minute meals in the cafeteria with an appetite that's shrunk to nothing. He thought he was _fit_ before this, after all his time in Deadlock, but his capabilities are so far from the Blackwatch standard they might as well be nonexistent. His lessons are put on hold to make room for practising his gift, and after each evening session Jesse is swearing and sore and supremely angry. Apart from his first performance, he hasn't been able to do it in Grand Mesa at all, but the failed attempts give him headaches all the same. By the time Jesse storms away from the session to get to his quarters, each day his skull is on fire and pain daggers through his eyes. He keeps it hidden from Reyes.

On day four of the new regimen, Jesse wakes up aching and sore, but when he begins the Blackwatch training process for the fourth time something has changed; and it's not just the fact he ran out of cigars two days ago, which he's trying not to think about. He's no longer struggling for air; it's hard, certainly, but his breathing is regular. He can barely get over the wall but _he can get over it_ , and the weight on his back seems to have lessened slightly.

Jesse's onto the ridiculously spaced monkey bars when something barrels into him from behind, and he's flung straight to the floor as someone charges past him and jumps onto the bars first, shooting him a glare on the way past. Pain shudders through his jaw and Jesse rubs it, staring angrily after the other agent.

"Need a hand?" comes a smooth voice, and Jesse looks up. A redheaded woman stands there, slim and tall with weathered skin, holding out her hand. He takes it and pulls himself up, staring at her. "Den's a bit of a prick sometimes," she says by way of explanation, nodding towards the guy who pushed Jesse. "Name's Sangre."

"McCree."

"I know who _you_ are," she says, chuckling slightly. "Sent one of our best to the hospital."

Jesse's face reddens slightly. "Uh..."

Sangre grins. "Nah, I'm kidding. I did worse when I came here."

"Doubt it."

"Heh, you're pretty cocky, kid." Sangre shrugs off one side of her pack and pulls her top down around her shoulder, revealing an inked-in skull on her skin. "Came from Los Muertos about three years ago. Killed five agents before they brought me in."

"Why'd they let you in?"

Sangre shrugs. "Don't know, if I'm honest. Said something about Blackwatch or death. Don't think they do it often, but there are a couple others like me. From gangs." She eyes McCree, one brow raised. "You're one too, huh? Deadlock?"

Jesse nods, and across the room the drill sergeant catches his eye and gives him a smouldering glare. "Shit, we better go."

"Ready when you are, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Jesse mutters.

Sangre shrugs, putting her pack back on again. "Prove it, then. Beat me in this lap and I'll stop calling you kid. Tell you what," she adds, leaning in slightly and winking, "I'll even give you a thirty second head start."

Jesse doesn't wait for her to finish the sentence before he's off, and as he jumps up and catches the first bar his muscles groan in protest. He grunts and grits his teeth as he swings across, and it seems like simultaneously an eternity and a couple of seconds before he reaches the end. Jesse drops down, pack bouncing, and sprints for the next obstacle. He clears about two before Sangre catches up with him, overtaking him easily in the sprint straight.

"C'mon, kid!" she calls over her shoulder, and Jesse grits his teeth and pumps his legs faster, breathing heavily.

It takes about an half an hour for Jesse to finish his last four laps, and, though he's still the last to end, the gap between him and the final Blackwatch agent is a lot smaller. Sangre is waiting for him at the end, and Jesse comes to a stop in front of her as he shrugs off his pack, panting.

"Nice job, kid," she tells him.

Jesse scowls slightly. "I dunno. You beat me."

Sangre laughs. "I've been doing this course for six years, kid. If I can't beat you, something's wrong."

With that, she turns and jogs away, and Jesse follows her more slowly out of the hangar. Contrary to the past days, he's ravenous, and he walks quickly to the mess hall. The now-familiar warm lighting greets him, and he goes around the counters, picking up a limp-looking burger. The table he chooses is empty.

As he sits down to eat, Jesse takes a massive bite of his food and flavour fills his mouth. He's shocked every time by how different the meals are to the sparse food back in Deadlock; each day he spends in Blackwatch makes it seem like years since he was in the gang.

"Hey, Jesse!" comes a voice, and Jesse looks round to see Fareeha walking towards him and waving. He waves back as she drops her tray down opposite him, mouth crammed full.

"Hey, Fareeha," he greets her, once he's swallowed. "What're you doin' here?"

The girl grins at him. "You're interesting. More than these guys, at least." She looks around at the assorted agents, both Blackwatch and Overwatch, clumped together at various tables.

"Where's your mom?"

"I don't know," she says, shrugging. "Doing whatever she does."

Jesse nods, running out of small talk to make, and they lapse into quiet but comfortable silence. He gets through half his burger before Fareeha jiggles slightly, like she's waiting for him to restart the conversation, and he speaks.

"So why're you here?" Jesse asks through a mouthful of burger.

Fareeha shrugs. "Already told you. You're interesting."

"No," he says, elaborating, "I mean here in Overwatch. How come you ain't at school or somethin'?"

"It's the holidays, duh," Fareeha tells him, grinning. "I come here when there's no school to spend time with Mom."

Jesse cocks his head. "So where d'you live while you're goin' to school?"

"With my dad," she says. "In Vancouver."

The older teenager nods, taking another huge bite of burger as he considers this.

Fareeha asks, "Why aren't you at school?"

Jesse can feel his cheeks go red as he swallows and mumbles, "Never went."

Fareeha's eyes go wide. "You _never went_?" Jesse is half-expecting her to think less of him for it; after all, he's a one in a billion in his lack of traditional education. However, her reaction is exactly the opposite. "You have to tell me how! Can you get me out of it?" she questions excitedly, and Jesse laughs.

"You gotta go, _hermanita_. Sorry."

Fareeha pouts. "Crap."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Your mom know you're usin' that kinda language?"

She picks at her nails innocently. "What language?"

Jesse snorts into his burger.

"So can you read?" she asks, with less than zero subtlety.

"Yeah," the older teenager tells her. "My ma taught me."

Fareeha frowns. "Where is she?"

Jesse swallows, and looks down. "She's, uh... she's dead."

The twelve-year-old's voice is tinged with guilt. "Sorry. My grandpa died last year," she adds, by way of consolation.

Jesse has never understood the culture of apologising for someone's death. Unless he's killed the person in question himself, he doesn't really see the point of saying sorry. Instead, he lapses into a semi-uncomfortable silence.

The quiet lasts for a couple of brief moments before Fareeha jumps up with her now-empty tray. "This was cool. Can we have lunch together again?"

"Sure," Jesse tells her, grinning. "Where're you off to now?"

"Mom's taking me to see a holo-movie," she answers, a huge smile splitting her face. "See you!"

With that, she skips off, braids swinging, and Jesse lets out a laugh as she disappears from view.


	13. The Bill Comes Due

Burning pain wakes Jesse up.

Fire sears his eyes, daggers stabbing at his head, and he bends over on the bed and curses.

"Are you alright, Agent McCree?" Athena asks.

Jesse's grateful for the lack of cameras as he mutters, rubbing his eyes and clenching his jaw, "M' fine."

It's never been this bad before. The pain that he gets after using his gift is always bad, but never this agonising. The most he's ever used it has been a couple times in one week, and now Reyes is forcing him to do it multiple times each day the sensation is hugely magnified. Jesse lets out a frustrated grunt. Yesterday was the worst session yet; it ended with him yelling insults at Reyes in Spanish, knowing full well he understood every word but still not stopping. After five failed attempts, Jesse stormed out of the room and came straight to his quarters.

His communicator vibrates from where it sits on the bedside table and he moans slightly, reaching out a hand. One glance at the time shows it's ludicrously early, and the message is short, but far from sweet.

_GABRIEL REYES: Training room._

In that moment, Jesse almost wishes he could go back to his shit Blackwatch beginning of using rifles. They're a hell of a lot less painful. But he knows he can't, so he grits his teeth and stands up and pushes the pain away until it's a dull throb in the centre of his forehead. Focus the pain in one place, and it becomes too much for the body to think about; at least, that's how he considers it. All he cares about is that it works.

It takes him a couple of minutes to shrug on his clothing, then drag himself over to the training room. Reyes is already waiting, crossed arms and beanie and all.

"Today's the day," he says cryptically as Jesse approaches.

The teenager sighs, so far from being in the mood for this bullshit. "What?"

Reyes hands him his now-familiar, slightly scuffed revolver. "You're going to get it right today. And you're not going to yell at me like a three-year-old."

Jesse stares at him, insult passing over his head, the words hovering on the tip of his tongue. _I can't do it again_. Instead, though, he shuts his mouth and takes the gun, turning to face the six bots lined up, hovering, in front of him.

He focuses and the world grows narrow, and he visualises the red circles appearing on the centres of their foreheads. He breathes in and out, and fans the hammer and six bullets find six targets. The bots drop.

Jesse gasps in an unsteady breath as Reyes claps his shoulder. "Nice job, kid."

He's about to say a grudging thanks, but suddenly the dull pain vanishes like leaking water, and dizziness fills his head. Sensation jars through his eye and he raises his fingers to it. They come away scarlet.

"Kid?" he hears Reyes say, and vaguely registers the commander moving to face him through blurry vision. He sways on his feet, and falls.

___________________

  
_"What is it?" he says, turning it over in his hands._

_She laughs, a tinkling sound that makes him warm inside. "I call it Peacekeeper. It's helped me do jus' that for many years, an' now it's gonna help you protect yourself."_

_He eyes the targets lined up in the distance, close enough to be easy to hit, strips of slightly splintered balsar wood. "I don't want to hurt people,_ Mamá _."_

_"This ain't for hurtin' people, honey. It's for givin' out justice when it's needed." She smiles at him, and he grins back despite the heaviness of the metal in his hands. "Now, hold it here. Called the handle," she explains, positioning his small hands on the gun. "This is the hammer, an' this is the trigger. Don't touch it yet."_

_He does what she manoeuvres his hands to do until the gun nestles comfortably between his fingers. He eyes it, the inherent feeling of danger of it._

_"Now, look through here," she tells him, touching the very front of the firearm. "These are the sights. Move the gun 'til it lines up with the target." He does so, and she gives him another smile. "Nice job. When you're ready jus' put this finger on the trigger and squeeze, okay?"_

_He takes a breath, staring at her, and she gives him a reassuring nod. He squeezes the trigger and noise cracks through the air, the firearm jerking back in his hands. He yelps as the first balsar target explodes in a shower of splinters, and almost drops the gun before she lets out a chuckle, calming him._

_"Hey, looks like you're a natural, huh?" she murmurs, crouching down to his level and ruffling his hair. "Just like me."_

_He beams up at her. "Really?"_

_"Oh, yeah," she says, laughing. "My pa taught me, same way I'm teachin' you. Said I learned pretty fast, just like you are now. It's a family tradition, I guess, learnin' to shoot. My abuela knew, my pa knew, I know and now you're about to know." She smiles again._

_He turns over the gun in his hands, keeping his fingers far from the trigger. "Can we keep goin'?" he asks._

_She laughs again. "Course we can, honey. Go for target two."_

_He does, shooting again, and as the target bursts he feels a sense of satisfaction._

_"Two in a row, huh?" she says, grinning as she gives him a brief squeeze. "Let's go for three."_

___________________

  
Jesse comes to slowly, surfacing from his subconscious gradually. Soft beeping greets him, blue light glowing through his eyelids. He shifts slightly, the dream fading as an aching longing spreads through his body.

"Jesse?" comes a voice, filled with worry, and he opens his eyes to see Angela peering down at him, forehead creased.

"Angie?" he murmurs. "What happened?"

She stares at him, pulling something from her belt. "You collapsed in the middle of training, Jesse."

His confusion must show on his face, because Angela is biting her lip even as he says, "I don't remember that."

"It's common for fainters to forget the moments before the event," she tells him, scientific knowledge kicking in.

"I... fainted?" Jesse blinks, suddenly uncomfortable and acutely aware of the drip feeding into his forearm. He itches to rip it out. Angela taps the thing in her hand, and he realises it's her comm unit. He leans forward and blurts, "Are you texting Reyes?"

The blonde teen looks up, face slightly shocked. "Of course," she says, sounding confused.

Jesse shakes his head. "Don't tell him -"

"Tell me what?" comes a voice, and Jesse freezes as the commander steps into the room, face dark. "Angela, thanks for your help," he tells her, in a tone that says _get out please_. She nods and smiles uncertainly, shooting a look at Jesse before she slips out the door.

Reyes stands there in silence, arms crossed, staring straight at Jesse. The teenager lies there, trapped under his gaze, wishing he was _anywhere_ else. Eventually, the commander speaks.

"Why didn't you tell me something was wrong?" His voice is threaded with annoyance and frustration and, confusingly, _disappointment_.

Jesse clenches his jaw.

Reyes takes in a deep breath. "I can't help you if you keep things from me. If you don't tell me the truth."

"I can't," Jesse mutters.

"Excuse me?" the commander says.

"I can't tell you the truth."

Reyes' eyes darken. "And why not?"

"'Cause then ya know summin's not right and you'll jus' toss me away in prison 'cause I ain't workin' right!" Jesse shouts, insides burning.

Reyes looks like someone's slapped him; his face is frozen in shock. "Kid -"

" _Don't call me kid_!" Jesse yells, and he grabs the IV going to his arm and yanks it out, ignoring the burst of pain. He nearly throws himself out of the bed, standing next to it with fists clenched so hard they begin to turn white. "I ain't a kid! I killed more guys than summa your people here. I killed -" He falters then, and stops. "Don't call me kid," he repeats, whispering brokenly, eyes shining. He's horribly aware of how bad his accent's become, how young he sounds.

The Blackwatch commander is staring at him with something unreadable in his expression, and he takes a step forwards. "McCree," he says, and the teenager balls his fists even harder at the name. "This is not Deadlock."

"I know," he says, feeling smaller than he's ever felt in his life.

"No, you don't," Reyes answers. "You think you do, but where it matters, in here," he says, tapping his head, "you don't. This is _not_ Deadlock. I will never leave you behind on a mission. I will never discard you because something is wrong. I don't play the same games they do."

Jesse stares at Reyes like he's a lifeline, keeping the teenager from going over the edge entirely. "You promise?" he whispers, and in that moment he sounds so much younger than his seventeen years.

The commander grips both of his shoulders. "I promise, McCree."

Jesse nods, everything in him trembling to break down. He keeps it together, though, takes a breath, blinks the tears away. It's a skill he learnt in Deadlock, and, even though Reyes is here telling him he doesn't need to do that anymore, he can't quite trust the words. There's a part of him that's screaming _don't trust him_. "Okay," he says quietly.

_Okay._

"Do you know why this happened?" Reyes asks him, eyes fixed on his face.

Jesse looks down. "It happens every time. Never this bad, though."

The commander's brow creases as he searches for an answer. "Ki - McCree, I -"

"Commander Reyes," someone says suddenly, and Angela strides into the room. "I know you two need to talk, but I need to make sure Jesse is -" She stops dead at the sight of the teenager standing, IV drip still swinging slightly by the bed.

"Sorry, Angela," Reyes says quickly, giving Jesse a look. "Hold on. We'll talk about this later."

Angela crosses her arms and glares at Jesse as Reyes leaves the room. "You can't just take that out," she scolds him, reconnecting the IV to his arm.

Jesse yelps slightly as it slides into him. "Angie, I don't need it -"

"Yes," she says, "you do." She gives him a frank stare, and Jesse shuts up. "Do you know what happened to you? You had multiple haemorrhages! I can't locate the cause, which just makes it even more dangerous. Whatever you did to make this happen, if you know," she tells him, eyes sparking, " _don't_ do it again. Am I clear?"

"Yes," Jesse mutters, feeling odd being scolded by someone who's his own age. It fades, though, when Angela's glare softens.

"I don't want to see you get hurt like this again, okay? It can be really serious," she says, a hint of anxiety in her tone. "Be careful."

Jesse gives her a smile. "I will."

Angela smiles back. "Good. You're still on bed rest for a day."

"Angie -"

"Twenty-four hours," she calls, already walking out of the room.

Jesse rolls his eyes, and in that moment Reyes steps back in the room.

"How long are you stuck here for?" he asks, folding his arms, the hint of a smirk crossing his face.

"A day," Jesse answers, sighing. "Don't need it."

Reyes chuckles. "Sure. Look, McCree, I... here." He holds out a small box of what look like plasters, labelled _NICOTINE PATCHES_. "I know you've run out of cigars."

Jesse frowns as he takes them. "How?"

Reyes smirks. "The fire alarm in your room isn't going off anymore."

Jesse lets out a laugh. "Maybe you ain't so bad, huh, _jefe_?"

" _Jefe_?" Reyes repeats drily, one eyebrow raised.

"Yup," Jesse replies, and puts the strange interaction they've just had, from anger to concern to kindness, out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for all of you thinking this bit of angst was a bit short
> 
> you ain't seen nothing yet
> 
> thank you as always for your awesome support!


	14. Keep On Keeping On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry for the wait for this chapter! a lot of things happened all at once, and i haven't had the time or motivation to write.
> 
> thank you for all the kudos and comments, they're all brilliant <3
> 
> *warning: last scene contains a light panic attack.*

Angela keeps Jesse in the medical centre for a full day, as promised, and Jesse is ready to tear his hair out by the time she lets him go.

"How are you feeling?" she asks him when she enters, blonde ponytail impeccable.

"Ready to get outta here," Jesse tells her, and Angela laughs.

"Here," she says, handing him a pile of folded black material. "The commander left these for you. Apparently there are some... more casual clothes in your room, also."

Jesse takes them, and she sweeps out of the room with a smile as he inspects the clothing, brow furrowed. This isn't his normal, painfully plain Blackwatch gear. The first piece of fabric is just that, a simple square of fabric, and Jesse frowns as he turns it around in his hands. Then, it hits him.

It's a serape, and Jesse's eyes go wide with disbelief at the realisation. He grabs the other clothes, finding a shirt and jeans along with a pair of spurred boots hidden in the layers.

"You gotta be kidding me," he mutters, grinning.

Five minutes later, Jesse is up and dressed, and he's wearing form-fitting pants secured with a black belt. His equally-dark, lightly-armoured is covered with a serape, and the boots clink as he takes a few experimental steps. He pauses for a second and reaches for his old belt, clipping the Deadlock buckle onto the newer. _A reminder_ , he thinks, though he's not sure exactly what of.

Jesse catches sight of the box sitting on the bedside table, the case of patches that Angela hasn't seen yet. He frowns as he picks it up and opens the lid, seeing a couple of organised columns of what looks like plasters. He takes one and peels off the backing, pressing it onto his forearm and hoping he's doing the right thing. He smoothes down the edges as he stares at it, and pauses for a second.

If he puts it somewhere visible, Reyes will see and he'll know. He gave the patches to Jesse, sure, but in the teenager's experience it's a test of some kind. Using them is a weakness; if he's wearing one, he needs to hide it.

Or is he wrong?

Angela knocks on the door. "Jesse, are you decent?" she asks, humour in her voice.

Jesse grins, pushing the patch out of his mind. "Sure am, Angie."

She enters with a smile, carrying one last thing in her hands. Jesse's grin widens as he recognises a black cowboy hat, Western and cliché and exactly like his old one. She holds it out, suppressing a chuckle, and when he pulls it on it fits like a glove.

"Reyes really got these?" Jesse asks, one step away from laughing outright at his new outfit. He can just imagine Morrison's face when he sees it.

Angela beams. "Yes. I believe he said something about irritating the Strike Commander," she says, giggling slightly despite her neutral words.

"Did he now?" Jesse asks with a smirk.

In that moment his comm unit buzzes from the bedside table, and Jesse turns to grab it.

_GABRIEL REYES: I'm assuming Angela's let you go by now. Come to my office._

"Shit, sorry, Angie, I gotta go," Jesse says, frowning, and she smiles.

"Don't worry about it. Just try and make sure you don't get hurt again!" Angela calls after him, and he's already halfway out of the clinic, holding up a thumbs-up sign over his shoulder as he leaves.

______________________

  
Gabriel sets his comm unit on the desk, message sent, and sighs.

"Gabe, you can't feel bad about this."

Gabriel drags a hand down his face. "It's my fault, Jack."

"No, it's not," Jack says, leaning forward and staring at him with piercing eyes. The Strike-Commander is sitting close to him, in his office, and Gabriel is feeling a whole lot of guilt. "He could have told you. He chose not to. Far as I'm concerned, Gabe, he's a lost cause."

"He deserves a chance."

"Not everyone deserves one, Gabe," Jack's tone is slightly wearied.

"He saved me in Ilios, did I tell you that?" Gabriel shoots back. "I gave him a pretty strong hint to get his ass out of there. He stayed and saved me." He ignores the shock on Jack's face as he adds, "And now I know it hurt him to do it."

Jack is silent for a couple of seconds.

"I've done it before, remember? Sangre, Colman? It worked out then," Gabriel says, more to himself than Jack. He picks up on it anyway.

"Both of them are adults, Gabe, and they were military before they were in gangs. They didn't have that much to change while they were in there." Jack's brow creases further. "But McCree, he's been in there for the teenage years, the... most important years. The stuff he's learnt there isn't going to go away. The smart thing to do is burn him now, send him with the others before you do something you'll regret."

"Yeah." Gabriel says unconvincingly. There's no question it's the smart move, and he knows this. Still, though, something is telling him the kid is more than he appears. He's always trusted his instincts, and they've never led him wrong. It's the reason almost all of his team lived through the Crisis. Now, those same feelings are telling him to give McCree a chance.

"You don't think it is." It's not a question.

"He's young, Jackie. He can change. Just give him a chance." Gabriel sees Jack's frown, gives him a look. "For me?"

Jack sighs. "Fine. I'll try. But I'm watching him closely."

Gabriel half-smiles at him. "Thanks."

The word comes out sounding tired and old, and Jack looks closely at him. "You okay?"

Gabriel lets out a sigh. "Yeah. I'll be better once we get back to Zurich."

"I get that," Jack says, chuckling. "I mean, Colorado is nice, but..." He looks around, wrinkling his nose slightly. "It's so lower-class."

"Says you, farm boy." Gabriel grins, and reaches out to mock-punch him. Jack dodges, and then he's leaning back in and their faces are close and their lips meet.

______________________

  
Jesse strolls along the corridor towards Reyes' office. He opens the door, not bothering to knock, and Reyes looks up at Jesse as Morrison leaps up to standing, face red.

"What do you want?" the Strike-Commander asks, glaring at the teenager. "And what the _hell_ are you wearing?"

Jesse crosses his arms. "Black."

He spots Reyes smirking behind Morrison's back as the blond soldier's gaze rakes scathingly down the western outfit. "That is _not_ what I meant." Morrison frowns. "Where the hell did you even get that?"

Jesse shrugs.

Morrison sighs and kneads his forehead, and Reyes' expression straightens slightly as he speaks. "Feeling better, McCree?"

"Yeah," Jesse says, nodding.

Morrison frowns at him. "Show some respect to your commanding officer."

Jesse resists the urge to snap off a sarcastic retort, instead staring straight at the Strike Commander. He doesn't bother to suppress the smirk in his voice as he says, "Yes _sir_ ," and Morrison's expression creases even further with annoyance.

Reyes nods, averting his gaze slightly. "Good. I'm sorry these past weeks have been so... disorganised, but your training program has been finalised now. Lessons are starting again, and you'll continue training with the others, as well as some different sessions throughout the week."

He holds out a piece of paper and Jesse steps forward to take it, frowning. It's a sheet of times and text, along with days of the week. The teenager stares at it.

"Is that clear? You'll start from now, with group training." Reyes says.

Jesse looks up, frowning. "This a permanent thing?"

Reyes nods. "Yes. Is that a problem?" Morrison is still in the room, standing off to one side and staring hard at Jesse, and it's unnerving to say the least.

"Uh, no," Jesse says, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just... no."

"Spit it out, McCree," the commander says, raising an eyebrow.

"I just, uh, thought you'd be done by now. With me," Jesse mumbles.

Reyes' eyes widen for a fraction of a moment before he looks down, clearing his throat. "No, this is permanent. You're dismissed."

Jesse nods. "Thanks. Sir," he adds when Morrison gives him another glare, and he turns and leaves.

Behind him, the commander gives Morrrison a loaded look that Jesse doesn't catch.

"Great chance," he whispers, once the teenager is out of sight.

Jack flings out a hand. "You didn't tell me he was going to be dressed as a fucking Wild West cowboy!"

Gabriel crosses his arms. "I need you to try again. I've given in an application to the UN for him to become a full Blackwatch agent, and I need your signature." Preoccupation flits across his face for a moment. "I already told him he's an official member."

"What?" Jack throws up his hands. "I don't - do you honestly think he deserves a proper chance? And," he continues, putting his palms flat on Gabriel's desk, "I'm not asking you as Strike-Commander. I'm asking you as Jack. Can you promise me he deserves this?"

Gabriel levels his gaze at the blond man. "Yes."

Jack gives him a long look. "Fine," he says eventually. "Where's the form?"

"I'll send it to you," Gabriel tells him. "Thanks, Jackie."

Jack stands up, moving to leave. "I hope you're not wrong, Gabe."

It's a few moments after the Strike-Commander has left when Gabriel lets out a sigh. "So do I."

___________________

  
"You're getting better, kid," Sangre says, red hair plastered in sweaty strands on her forehead.

Jesse is standing next to her, bent over and panting. "Y'think so?" he huffs out.

She laughs. "Yeah. You're not as shit as the first day."

"Fuck off," Jesse answers, but there's humour in his voice. Something about the dark-skinned woman makes him relax; maybe it's their similar history, maybe it's her relaxed personality, but Jesse feels like he can trust her.

"Look," she says, grabbing one of his arms and hoisting it above his head. "Bending over isn't going to help your breathing. Put both your hands there... yeah, there you go, kid."

"I'm going to... beat you soon," Jesse tells her, smirking. "You'll have to stop callin' me kid."

Sangre shrugs, holding her hands out. "Try me. Ready to go again?"

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me," Jesse groans. The pack is heavy on his back, the straps cutting into his shoulders and sweat coating his skin where it makes contact with the pack.

"Nope." She grins. "Race you."

Sangre runs straight towards the first obstacle, restarting their training, and Jesse lets out a drawn-out sigh as he follows his unofficial trainer of sorts.

________________

  
"Alright. Show me what you can do," says Amari, and the familiar training range unfolds in front of Jesse. It's the first time he's had a lesson with Amari, training Reyes tells him is permanent. This time, though, unlike the commander's shooting training, he's been forbidden to use his gift.

"Sure thing, ma'am," Jesse says, and raises his revolver as the bots start moving in front of him. He takes aim at the first and hits it directly, eye sparking before it falls. Another appears to the right and he twists and shoots.

It carries on in the same vein, groups of up to five appearing in the range all around him. He takes them down quickly and efficiently, and although he misses a couple of shots he gets a few right in the critical spots on the bots' glowing eyes. When he finishes, about ten minutes later, Amari comes over with a smile.

"Good work, Jesse," she says. "Accuracy analysis gives a figure of about four point six percent. The average is four point seven, so you're on the sharper side of normal." Her smile widens. "Impressive."

"Uh, thanks," he says uncertainly. It should be good news to Jesse, but he's always been the best at sharpshooting. To hear he's just around _average_... it's like he's been wrong about himself this whole time.

Amari looks at him in a funny way then, tilting her head. Jesse frowns.

"How accurate are you with your non-dominant hand?" she asks.

Jesse switches the revolver to his right hand, wincing slightly at the unfamiliar feel of it. "Don't really know. 's been a while since I tried."

"I want to do an assessment of it. In my experience, it's useful to determine how much the accuracy can be improved in the dominant hand."

Jesse shrugs. "Sure."

They run the same exercise again, and this time Jesse gets a result of five point two. Amari tells him that the relatively close values are a good sign of room for improvement.

"Many of my comrades have improved their accuracy by several points above their non-dominant," she explains. "I've found that if the accuracies are already far apart, it's difficult to improve hugely."

Their session doesn't last long after that, and Jesse walks over to the gun wall to put his firearm away. He's still not allowed to carry one around the Watchpoint with him. A thought pops into Jesse's head as he replaces the revolver on its shelf, and he blurts it out then and there. "What's the highest accuracy anyone has?"

Amari gives him an amused look. "Zero point three. And, before you ask, the shooter is me." The captain chuckles. "Good luck catching up, _tifl_."

Jesse gives her a smirk. "It'll happen one day."

Amari just raises her eyebrows knowingly, watching Jesse leave with a smile.

________________

  
"What do you know about the Crisis?" Reyes asks, leaning back in his chair.

Jesse shrugs. "Lots of bots. Lot of death. And you started savin' everyone."

Reyes nods. "It was more than just me. Morrison and Amari, as well as a few others I don't think you've met. We formed a strike team and started hitting omniums and strongholds. Eventually, we started making dents in their forces, and a whole lot of fringe groups copied us. It was extremely difficult to defend every omnium all the time while still attacking, so they were forced to retreat back. That's where we won." The commander shrugs. "Course, it helped we had one of their creators on our side."

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "What?"

"One of the original team," Reyes explains, "Torbjörn Lindholm. He invented about... twenty major types of omnic. Including the Bastions."

Jesse's eyes go wide. "He made the _Bastions_?"

Reyes nods, looking somewhere off to the side of Jesse's head. "Mhmm. Spent the rest of the war trying to make up for them. Good man. Near the end, we managed to starve the omniums of resources and then went in to raze the remaining dissenters. We formed Overwatch about two months later."

"You ever lose anyone?" Jesse asks.

Reyes pauses. "Only once," he says eventually. "Never again."

Jesse is silent at that.

"Anyway," Reyes says, putting a hand on the table and standing up. "Session's over for today. And that reminds me, your interrogation sessions have been terminated as of today."

Jesse blinks. "Seriously?"

Reyes nods. "We've exhausted all the information we need to take Deadlock down from you. I know you've been keeping things from Chén, but they're personal and not essential right now."

Jesse nods, and Reyes is out the door by the time he mutters, "Thank fuck for that."

________________

  
"So how long have you been here?" Jesse asks.

Angela sits opposite him, one of the infrequent times she visits the mess hall to eat. "About nine months," she says. "I'm taking a year out of my studies to do practical experience."

"What're you studyin'?" Jesse takes his last forkful of noodles, a dish he's not had before but that Angela assured him was delicious.

She waves her fork in the air nonchalantly. "I'm completing a double PhD in experimental medicine and nanoscience."

Jesse raises his eyebrows and whistles. "Jeez, Angie, you're pretty smart." He grins, and she blushes. "How come you're doin' it so early?"

"I completed _gymnasium_ two years ago, so I suppose I just kept going," Angela says, smiling. "I've always wanted to be a doctor, to help people. I can do that once I've learnt these brand-new technologies." Her eyes spark then, lighting up as she keeps talking. "It's fascinating. I'm actually reading a paper that hypothesises nanites could be developed to reformat or regrow tissue at a molecular level, similar to the stem cell breakthrough two decades ago. It's particularly intriguing because of the lack of limits; they could be able to grow anything from bone marrow to grey matter, which could -" She spots Jesse's blank look then, and laughs. "Sorry, Jesse, I just get so... excited about all this! I forget most people don't learn the same things I do."

"Nah, it's all good," Jesse reassures her, laughing. "It's interesting."

Angela looks down at her watch and her eyes widen slightly. "Oh! I'm so sorry, Jesse, I have to go. I'm due to treat a patient in five minutes." She stands up, taking the tray with her and biting her lip.

Jesse grins. "Don't worry 'bout it. Bye, Angie."

"Bye!" she says, waving as she leaves the hall hurriedly, white coat flapping behind her.

________________

  
_JACK MORRISON: Just got word from the UN. McCree's been approved as a full agent._

_JACK MORRISON: I hope you know what you're doing, Gabe._

_GABRIEL REYES: Thanks, Jackie. Trust me._

________________

  
"Gérard, this is Jesse McCree. McCree, this is Gérard Lacroix, head of Talon operations. He's going to give you a briefing on the organisation, as you're officially a full member and you've had a run-in with them already."

The tall, debonair man standing next to Reyes, a thin pencil moustache on his upper lip, grins at Jesse. "I understand you took down several of their agents?"

Jesse nods, and recognises his voice from Reyes' phone call after the mission. It seems like so long ago, even though it's only been a couple of weeks.

Lacroix's smile widens. "Nicely done," he compliments. "Talon has only been in our view for a couple of years, but they're already one of our biggest problems. They seem to be behind a lot of large gang operations in various ways, as well as other projects. There's a lot we don't know about them: their origins, their agents, their ultimate goal."

They talk for a little longer, Lacroix outlining the basics of the operation to Jesse. According to the Frenchman, Blackwatch has a sub-division dedicated to Talon operations, and it's full of the stealthiest, most effective agents they have. They carry out recon and covert strikes and, occasionally when they can, assassinations.

Reyes says, "You're not going to be part of the task force. Instead, we're going to keep you as a reserve, if we need agents for scorched earth ops. Large-scale attacks with no stealth element," he clarifies.

Jesse frowns. "Why me?"

"They know your face," Lacroix explains. "You can't be part of undercover operations involving the organisation if they already know what you look like, but you're a lower-risk option than others for scorched earth."

Jesse nods. It's not really the question he was asking, but Reyes is looking at him in a way says the commander understands he meant something different.

"Thanks, Gérard," Reyes tells Lacroix, and the Frenchman smiles at him.

"No problem, _mon ami_. Jesse," he says, dipping his head and smiling. He leaves silently, and Jesse turns to look at Reyes.

"Why are you tellin' me this?" he asks quietly, watching the commander. "Why do you trust me?"

Reyes sighs. "You're a smart kid. You have a second chance here, a place for your talents. I don't think you're stupid enough to throw away that chance, or double-cross Overwatch and end up in prison."

Jesse nods. Part of him was almost hoping it's more than his ability to kill, that there's something different about him that makes Reyes value him. Instead, the commander only wants him for his talent. Jesse's eyes widen in that moment. _Stupid_.

He's nothing special here. There's no magical happy ending waiting for him, no redemption arc for being a hero, no forgiveness waiting for him. He's on the wrong side of the organisation for that, the side that strikes from the darkness and retreats when the pain reaches its target. It hits him then how cutthroat Blackwatch is; he's been left behind, valued for his shooting skill and not much else, been _lied_ to.

_Just like Deadlock._

He hasn't somehow gained a chance to redeem himself. He's just traded one way of hurting people for another. _You could do great things_ , Reyes told him in the interrogation room, the words that made him join up, and he's only now realising they're lies.

Jesse stands up quickly. "I gotta go." He doesn't wait for Reyes to respond before he's out of the office and speedwalking to his quarters.

Jesse's time in Blackwatch still doesn't feel permanent, even though rationally he knows he has to stay. He's gotten to know Angela and Fareeha a little more, but they don't know much about him, and, although Amari seems to like him, Reyes flips from emotionless to angry to friendly and Jesse can't tell what he's thinking. That's not even mentioning the rest of Blackwatch; most of them seem to hate him, and he's not surprised based on how many of their colleagues he hurt.

_That's all ya can do, Jess, hurt people, got it? We don't need ya for much else. Just keep on keepin' on killin', and we'll keep ya around._

Jesse presses himself into the corner of his room, burying his face in his knees, trying to push the snaking voice that sounds so much like Colt out of his head. He feels so overwhelmed and he doesn't know how to stop it, and that in itself scares him. He breathes in and out, forcing himself to stay calm, telling himself he's okay. He's fine. He just has to carry on like he has been doing, this relatively stable state he's found himself in, and there'll be an opportunity. Somewhere. Of what, he doesn't know.

And then he realises what day it is.

Jesse's breath hitches and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He doesn't know why he's having this reaction, why the realisation is hitting him so hard, but he can't stop the spiral he's found himself in. The panic is magnified even further now that he's remembered the date. He takes a breath in, exhales, does it again, trying to calm down.

_Stay where you are. Figure out a plan._

"Jesse?" comes a voice, and he jerks in shock, leaping to his feet. Angela is standing in the doorway, carrying a clipboard, expression horrified. She hurries towards him, into his room, and Jesse tenses as she comes closer. "Are you alright?"

Jesse swipes roughly at his eyes, breathing steadily. "'M fine. How did you get in?"

"I can see you're not, Jesse. You left the door open. You must have forgotten to - _Gott_ , it doesn't matter! What's happened?" Angela's face is twisted in concern, and she bites her lip.

"Nothin'," Jesse answers, and it sounds unconvincing even to his ears.

"You can tell me," she says gently. "Anything you say is confidential." She grins at him then. "I had to sign a contract and everything."

Jesse lets out a humourless laugh. "I doubt you want to hear my shit, Angie."

Angela glares at him, and her lips thin. "Jesse McCree, you take that back." Jesse stares, dumbfounded, as her tone turns accusatory. "I _care_ about you, Jesse. Whatever you need, I'm here. Don't you dare insinuate that's not true." She takes him by surprise then, pulling him in for a hug, and Jesse stiffens for a moment before relaxing.

"Thanks, Angie," he mumbles into her shoulder.

She pauses. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

Angela hugs him tighter. "That's okay," she says. "You don't have to tell me why. But you _do_ have to say when they happen so I can _help_ you." She pulls back to kneeling, biting her lip. "Is it often?"

Jesse hugs his knees. "I dunno. Can't really tell when they're comin'."

Angela sighs, but she doesn't seem to have anything to say. So she sits with him in silence, until Jesse's more calm and she has to go.

"Are you going to be alright?" she asks.

Jesse nods. "Yeah. Thanks, Angie."

She smiles at him. "It's no problem, Jesse."

When she's gone, Jesse leans his head back against the wall, taking a deep breath. "Happy fuckin' birthday," he mutters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope this didn't come off too disjointed! it's a series of scenes over several weeks, leading up to the next chapter.


	15. Recon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first off, i am so so sorry. the update schedule for this fic has been horrendous and i've been lacking motivation for it, as well as struggling recently with work and mental health. i just want to apologise for the irregularity/lateness of updates, and i want to say thank you to everyone who's still reading despite the pauses. you guys keep me writing.
> 
> on a more positive note i finally got out a chapter! constructive criticism is appreciated as always, and i'll try and write the next one within a reasonable timeframe.

Jesse is in the middle of training when the agent overseeing it flags him over to stop.

"What've you done this time?" Sangre quips, smirking as she runs.

Jesse huffs slightly. He's managing to keep reasonable pace with Sangre, even as she starts pushing herself further and faster than she has before. "No clue."

The Latina woman vaults over the wall, landing over the side with a thud, and Jesse takes a breath as he sprints and kicks up his foot. He pushes off the wall and up, but the angle is off and he ends up barely catching the edge with his fingers.

"Aw, fuck," he groans, and heaves himself up. Despite how many times he's run the course, he still can't consistently scale the wall without having to pull himself over. Jesse lets himself drop and land and then he's off again, several paces behind Sangre. His feet thump through his head as he runs, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him.

"McCree, get over here," the agent, a hard-headed ass named Pierce, commands when he draws closer.

Jesse comes to a stop, mock-saluting with a smirk. He's been chewed out for failing to _show respect, McCree_ too many times so far, all ending in him scowling under the glares of multiple pissed-off sergeants. Now, he's taken to performing the gesture in a way that technically checks the box, but damn sure isn't genuine. "What?"

Pierce folds his arms. "The Commander wants you in his office."

Jesse nods, and starts shrugging off his backpack. The weights slant to one shoulder and he teeters off-balance for a second before the rucksack drops to the ground. He hauls it back to the rack as Pierce watches. He's moving to leave the training hall when there's a noise behind him, and Jesse turns to see the sergeant clearing his throat.

"You did good today, McCree," he says shortly.

Jesse grins at him, and a hint of a smile crosses Pierce's face before he clears his throat and turns. "Keep moving!" he barks.

Jesse walks away, and, the moment he steps over the threshold of the training hall where everything is simple and he knows exactly what's going on, his mood deflates and the world dims. Last night comes back to him in flashes. The remembered realisation settles heavy in his gut.

He walks to Reyes' office in a half-daze, not really paying attention to his surroundings. He knocks as usual, gets let in just the same, and sits down in the standard seat. The commander turns to him, taking his attention off his screen.

"Congrats, kid. You're a full agent." Reyes spreads his hands and leans back.

Jesse raises an eyebrow. "Thought I already was."

Reyes shrugs. "Yeah. Not officially. It takes a while to go through the system, so I just... sped it up a little. Told you early."

Jesse's expression turns into a shark-like grin. "Nice."

The commander leans forward and sets a gleaming object on the desk, and Jesse recognises the six-shooter he's been using for these past weeks, a little more polished, sitting in a snug holster. "You've officially got permission to use a firearm." He pauses. "I don't think I need to go over how fucked you'd be if you decided to use it on anyone in this organisation, do I?"

"No," Jesse says, reaching for the gun. The holster attaches naturally to the right side of his belt, and he barely notices the weight when he stands up. "That all?" He knows Morrison would have a heart attack if he heard Jesse speaking like this to his commander. It's precisely why he's doing it.

Reyes leans back. "No. I'm taking you on a recon mission to teach you the basics."

Jesse blinks. "When?"

"Ten minutes. Get your shit together and meet me in the hangar."

With that, Reyes turns to his files, focus off Jesse, and the teenager restrains his sigh before he leaves the room.

It takes him five minutes to get back to his room and change out of his sweaty training clothes into the sleek black mission outfit. Jesse shoves his hat on as he leaves the room, about to head back to the hangar when a voice stops him.

"Jesse?"

He turns round to see Fareeha standing there, one eyebrow raised. "Where are you going?" she asks.

"Got a recon mission," Jesse tells her. "Probably gonna be borin' as shit, to be honest."

Fareeha grins. "Wish I could come."

Jesse shrugs, a matching expression spreading across his face. "I'd want to if I were you. Stowaway on the ship or somethin'."

The kid lets out a laugh. "Are you going to be back in time for lunch?"

"Dunno," he says, frowning. "I'll come find you when I get back, alright?"

Fareeha nods. "Good luck," she tells him, and he tips his hat with a grin before setting off again.

He's nearly run over the ten minutes by the time he turns up from his stroll towards the hangar, and Reyes raises an eyebrow and tilts his watch towards Jesse.

"I'm on time!" Jesse protests, holding up his hands.

Reyes ignores the comment, instead setting off towards Jesse and hefting the bag by his feet onto his shoulder. The cowboy frowns as the commander strides past him.

"Come on, kid," he says, and Jesse huffs before following back the way he came.

Reyes takes him to a large, ordered room that's in the same corridor as the hangar itself. It's full of named lockers, and there's a Blackwatch symbol sprayed on the wall. Jesse stares at the rows of identical, thin doors. _Sangre. Pierce. Ramirez. Lí. Bourne. Fischer. Monroe_. And there, slightly to the right of the middle, is a used-looking locker with his own surname.

"This is the equipment room, or the armoury. Different people, different names. Since you're official now, you get a locker. I'm not going to be showing you everything forever, so whenever you're on a mission you come here. This is where all your armour, weapons, comms and whatever the hell else you want in there is kept. For use on missions, got it?" Jesse nods, and Reyes carries on. "I'll get your body armour sorted later, but for now the comms and bullets I'll give you now are yours to keep, and keep safe."

"Where's your locker?" Jesse says.

Reyes tips his head slightly. "I just use my office."

Jesse shrugs, and then Reyes starts walking again, leaving the armoury and heading back towards the hangar. The cowboy hurries to catch up.

"So where are we goin'?" he asks as they pass through the high doorway into the vast space.

Reyes' answer is brief. "Mexico. Dorado, to be specific. We're investigating gang activity there." He brings out a tablet as he walks, taps on it a few times and angles it towards Jesse. It's displaying a stylised skull symbol, bright and fluorescent and badly drawn. "This is the symbol of Los Muertos."

Jesse frowns. He's heard of them once, in passing. Colt was complaining that some delivery was taking too long. Deadlock cut ties with them soon after, and Jesse never learnt anything about them beside that one deal.

Reyes stops suddenly and points towards the nearest dropship. This one's an Overwatch-painted ship instead of the black design Jesse's ridden in multiple times. "Here's our ride. Get in."

Jesse goes first, walking up the ramp slowly. He's never been a fan of recon missions. They're too slow, too tense, too drawn-out for his liking. Give him a room full of enemies and he's in his element, but being stealthy is pretty far from his comfort zone. The dropship is empty save for one rifle propped up against the side, and Jesse bends down to look at it. It's surprisingly blue for a Blackwatch weapon, and there are dozens of notches cut into its side. Whoever owns this has killed a lot of people, he guesses.

"Wouldn't touch that if I were you," Reyes says suddenly, humour in his voice. Jesse looks up to see him unloading the bag into the ship. "She gets pretty particular about that rifle."

"Who?" Jesse asks, frowning.

"He's talking about me," comes another voice, and he turns to see Amari standing in the dropship's doorway. "Sorry, Gabriel, I needed to take care of a few pre-mission things." She smiles at Jesse. "Ready?"

He stares at the captain as she strides into the ship, silky hair swinging. "I didn't know you were Blackwatch," he says.

Amari waves a hand. "I'm not."

"She's the best recon agent we have," Reyes explains as he straps himself into one of the seats lining the wall. Amari does the same and Jesse mimics their actions, sitting opposite them. "It's all the eye, really," he says, and Amari elbows him.

"Eye?"

Amari taps her right eye, winking. "I have a cybernetic eye. I lost mine in an accident when I was a child, and this was engineered for me a few years ago. It makes my vision a lot better, but it's not the only reason I'm skilled at reconnaissance," she finishes, with a look at Reyes.

Jesse averts his gaze as the dropship begins to rise.

The trip to Dorado takes just under an hour. They ride in complete, although comfortable, silence. Jesse's stomach jolts as they land, and before he's registered they're fully on the ground again Reyes is getting up and grabbing equipment.

"Get your shit ready," he calls to Jesse, tossing him a pack of bullets.

Jesse fumbles but doesn't drop them, and loads them smoothly into his revolver before bolstering it again. Reyes comes over to him, holding a black wire. Jesse goes tense as the commander clips it to the side of his head, and resists the urge to pull away.

"This is open channel, and open mic," the commander explains. "Essentially, everyone on the line can hear everything you say."

Jesse nods and asks, "Who else is listenin'? 'Sides Morrison, I guess."

"The Strike-Commander's gone back to Zurich, actually. Support's being handled by-"

Before Reyes can finish, there's a gasp of surprise from the pilot's seat.

" _What_  are you doing here?" Amari's voice is full of barely-restrained anger and concern.

Reyes frowns, and strides over. Jesse hurries after him and stares at where Amari is glaring, face slightly pale, into a small recess between two high cabinets.

Fareeha is huddled into the space, blinking up at the three of them with apprehension in her dark eyes. Her braids swish as she wriggles herself into a standing position, dusting herself down. "I want to come on the mission, mama. You _never_ let me come!"

"No, I don't, Fareeha, because they are _dangerous_!" Amari's voice rises, and Reyes puts a hand on her shoulder.

"She'll be safe staying in here, Ana."

The captain whirls round and gives him a look that could scorch steel. "She won't be safe on her own, Gabriel. After what she just did -" Amari pauses to give Fareeha a scolding stare, making the twelve-year-old shrink slightly, "- I don't trust her alone in here, in the middle of Los Muertos territory."

Reyes glances around and his eyes alight on Jesse. "Kid -"

The teenager starts. "What?"

"You need to stay and look after Fareeha in the dropship."

" _What_?" Jesse repeats, simultaneous with Amari.

The captain glares at Reyes. "I will be staying with her."

He gives Amari a straight look and explains, "I know you want to keep her safe, but I need you for this recon. I don't need McCree; he's here for training we can do some other time."

Jesse tries to ignore the odd pang that rises in him at the words. _I don't need McCree._

Amari's lips thin slightly as she glances at Jesse, then back at her daughter. "Fine," she concedes eventually, and gives Jesse a frank stare. "Don't let anything happen to her." Her voice drops slightly. "Please."

Jesse nods reluctantly, and both the captain and the commander resume collecting their equipment. Amari picks up the notched sniper rifle with familiarity, while Reyes straps twin shotguns to his hips.

"Stealthy," Jesse mutters.

Reyes says, "Don't knock it 'til you try it, kid."

It only takes a few more moments before both of them are standing, ready, in front of the dropship door. It whirrs downwards as Amari gives Fareeha one last look, half-worried and half-annoyed.

"Let's go," Reyes says, and Amari nods and turns away.

The door's open onto a view of bright terracotta roofs and orange cobblestones, illuminated in sunlight, fabrics attached to the buildings flapping in the breeze. The captain disappears through a narrow alley on the left, closely followed by Reyes, and suddenly Jesse is alone with Fareeha as the door closes back up.

"I was jokin' earlier," Jesse says immediately, glaring at Fareeha.

She rolls her eyes. "I wasn't. It was a good plan."

"Was not."

"It worked!" Fareeha protests, letting out a huff. "She _never_ lets me come. All of my family have been soldiers but she doesn't want me to and it's so _unfair_!"

Jesse goes to ruffle her hair, and she bats the hand away. "You're just a kid, Fareeha. She just doesn't want you runnin' into danger now. Wait a couple years and it'll be fine."

"You're still a kid," she accuses. "You get to come on missions."

"Yeah, but the difference is I don't get a choice. You do," Jesse says, and Fareeha seems to wilt slightly, realising she can't argue down his point.

Jesse makes his way over to the seats, flopping down into the same one he was strapped into minutes ago. Fareeha copies him, sitting opposite from him, across the table.

Fareeha says, "So where did you come from?"

Jesse pauses. "I, uh, used to live in Santa Fe."

"That's near Grand Mesa, right?" she asks, tilting her head to one side.

Jesse leans back in his chair, swinging his legs up and onto the table. "Pretty near, yeah. We were based outta Route 66."

Fareeha nods sagely. "Cool." She's silent for a moment before she leans forwards, a questioning look on her face. "Why -?"

Something crashes against the dropship and it shakes, and Jesse leaps out of his chair as the ship's displays flash red.

"Agent McCree, someone is attempting to breach the vehicle!" Athena warns, her usually-calm voice agitated. Jesse snatches up his revolver.

"Hide, 'Reeha," he tells her, pointing to the slightly more concealed upper section of the dropship. She scrambles to get up as Jesse readies himself, aiming the gun straight at the door.

There's another crash and the ship rocks again,

"Door integrity falling. Agent McCree, the intruders are about to breach the hull -"

"I got this, Athena," Jesse growls, gripping the revolver tightly as his eyes narrow.

The final crash shakes straight through the ship, and the door explodes inwards and skids past Jesse.

"Bring it on, _cabrones_ ," he hisses.

Three men with bright tattoos burst into the ship, spotting Jesse immediately and screaming in Spanish as they raise their weapons. Jesse shoots twice and two fall, and he flings himself to the ground as the third looses a spray of bullets at him. Jesse scrambles to his feet and strafes sideways as he shoots again, and the muscular man falls to the ground with a grunt and a thud. The teenager stands over him for a second, waiting for the adrenaline pulsing through his blood to fade.

" _Dios_ ," he mutters, staring down. There's a ragged hole cut through the gang member's forehead.

_Fareeha shouldn't see this._

Something slams into Jesse from behind and he yells as he's thrown to the ground, struggling under the weight of his attacker.

"Run!" he yells as he slams his fist into the side of his assailant's head. "Fareeha, you gotta - run!"

There's a shout of pain and something stabs into Jesse's back, and he howls as electricity courses through him and his muscles lock as he falls to the floor. The last thing he feels is a gun smashing into the side of his head before the world dissolves.

____________

  
"Jesse, wake _up_!"

Jesse's eyes fly open and he jerks in his chair, against whatever is holding him there.

"What the fuck?" he exclaims, seeing the bindings wrapped tightly around his wrists and ankles. He jerks again, but the chair must be bolted to the floor, because it doesn't move an inch. He can feel air on his bare arms, and a thought jolts through him: his shirt's arms are so short that his tattoo's visible. Whoever took him will know he is - was - a member of Deadlock.

"Jesse!" The voice is a high whisper, and relief leaks through it. "Are you okay?"

The teenager squints to his side in the darkness, and makes out a barely-visible silhouette, presumably similarly restrained. The ambush comes back to him; staying in the dropship on Ana's insistence to look after Fareeha, those assholes covered in tattoos finding them, and Jesse's failed attempts at fending them off. He vaguely remembers Fareeha yelling Egyptian at them as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Shit," he curses. "Did they hurt you?"

Fareeha's voice is stony. "Answer my question first."

"I'm fine," Jesse says impatiently, jerking at his restraints again. "You hurt?"

"No," she answers, and Jesse breathes a sigh of relief. Explaining that one to her mother... that'd have been fun.

"Where are we?" the older teenager asks, squinting and attempting to see through the darkness and discern his surroundings. It doesn't work.

Fareeha's voice is steady. "I don't know. They blindfolded me. But... we're still in Dorado, I think. We weren't in the truck for that long."

Jesse exhales. "Okay. We can work with that, we just gotta get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere," comes a smirking voice, and suddenly the lights flick on above Jesse and the room lights up.

It's a dingy, small space, filled with machine parts, tools and clutter. Empty paint cans litter the floor, leaking vivid colour, and there's a huge graffitied, stylised skull adorning the wall. Jesse recognises the symbol from Reyes' tablet: the insignia of Los Muertos.

"Shit," he mutters.

"Shit is right," agrees the voice, and Jesse twists round in his seat to see a skinny guy covered in luminescent tattoos leaning against the wall, flipping a knife over in his hands. "So, tell me," he says, addressing the older teen with a nod towards his exposed tattoo, "What's someone like you doing in an Overwatch dropship, _amigo_?"

Jesse glares straight at him, wishing looks could kill. The man would be dead on the ground ten times over if that were the case. "Fuck off."

The man raises an eyebrow, pushing himself off the wall with a skeletal grin. "Do you need some motivation to talk?" He laughs. "Okay, then."

With lightning-fast speed he darts forward and slams the knife down onto Jesse's hand, and he bites back a cry as the hilt smashes two of his fingers, and pain streaks down his arm. Fareeha tenses next to him, every part of her body alert. Jesse hisses as the Los Muertos member chuckles again.

"Feeling more chatty? Why don't you tell me what you're doing in Dorado?"

Jesse stares venomously at him and presses his lips shut, refusing to say anything. He knows about Los Muertos; they're a middle-tier gang. Not as powerful as Deadlock was, but not impotent either. Jesse has escaped more ruthless killers than these; if a mission against one of Deadlock's rivals went wrong and he got captured, he had to make it out on his own. He beat his captors every time, and he can beat Los Muertos just the same.

Except this time, he has to get Fareeha out too.

His eyes dart around the room, looking for anything that could help him escape, and the gang member catches sight of his searching and backhands him violently across the face. Fire rips through Jesse's cheek.

"¡ _Contesta la pregunta_!" the man roars, flipping to furious Spanish. "¡ _Ahora_!"

"¡ _Chingate, pendejo_!" Jesse spits back, enjoying the disgusted shock that spreads across the man's face.

Time slows for a moment, both captive and captor staring at each other with blazing hatred. Suddenly, a smile smooths its way across the gang member's expression like quicksilver, and he straightens up and takes a step back, flipping the knife in the air.

"So, pain doesn't really do it for you, huh? You must have good training," he comments. "I guess I'll have to try a different tactic."

The man strides away from him and Jesse frowns, and then the Los Muertos member stops right next to Fareeha and grips the knife, holding the glinting blade to her throat, and Jesse's heart stops as she stares at him with wide eyes, and the gang member grins.

"Tell me _right now_ what you were doing here, or I kill the girl."


	16. Escape

"Got it," Bourne says shortly, and Gabriel snatches up the camera and stuffs it into his bag. "Clear to get back to the ship, sir."

The Los Muertos operation is sprawled before him, crates and carts littering the ground, several tattooed gang members strolling about. None of them notice the Blackwatch commander as he silently skirts the edge of the area, using the high-stacked columns of boxes as cover. High up on a run of containers, half-concealed behind stacked, coloured crates, he sees Ana sprinting along, keeping pace with him, rifle slung across her back. She jumps down to the ground in perfect synchronisation with Gabriel reaching the end of the row of boxes.

"Nice job," she says, brushing a strand of silky hair out of her eyes. Blackwatch has been collecting intel on the operation for a few months now, and once they've cleaned up the last remnants of Deadlock they'll turn to Los Muertos. Time is of the essence, though, and Gabriel's been organising as many recon missions as possible to scout out as much as he can before Blackwatch goes in to take it down. This one is sensitive, being so close to the operation, hence why he and Ana are carrying it out; and he thought it'd be a good time to teach Jesse about stealth.

Gabriel hmphs amusedly, and tells Ana, "We need to get back to the dropship."

Ana nods. "I'm going to have a long talk with Fareeha when we return. I hope she's alright."

"I'm sure she's fine, Ana," Gabriel says, and starts walking towards the back alley that serves as their passage between Los Muertos' base and the dropship.

Ana keeps pace easily by his side and makes a tsk sound, opening her mouth to say something else, but suddenly Gabriel stops dead in the middle of the alley. His hand flies to his comm.

"Bourne, where the _fuck_ is the dropship?" he asks, voice low.

Ana frowns and looks over to the end of the alley; a shaft of sunlight spears down from the bright Dorado sun, illuminating the small courtyard where the Overwatch dropship is parked. Was parked.

"What?" Bourne's voice bursts through the comm, filled with shock. "I... missing...!" His words crackle and distort, and Gabriel grabs his comm and wrenches it out of his ear, staring at it. A tiny red light blinks rapidly on its dark surface. The Blackwatch commander knows all too well what that means: they've lost connection to the dropship, and Bourne's words with it. The only way to get disconnected, though, is if the ship's communication capability is manually disabled. And...

"Fuck!" Gabriel curses.

Ana's eyes are narrowed, realising what's happened. "Fareeha is on that ship, Gabriel. Where is it?"

"I don't know," he says, striding out of the alley and staring around the courtyard. The walls are blank and the place is empty, and the walls are blank save for a still-dripping decal, obviously graffitied on very recently, illuminated by sunlight. Gabriel storms over to it and swears under his breath when he sees it, and Ana's face drains of colour.

"Gabe, that's -"

"I know," he says grimly. "Los Muertos have the dropship." Gabriel pulls out his shotguns, ready to storm back to the gang's operation. "They're going to regret leaving that symbol for us to find."

  
_________________________________

 

"Clock's ticking, _puto_. Are you going to tell me why you're here?" asks the gang member, his blade whispering across Fareeha's throat. It bobs as she swallows, and he laughs.

Jesse bares his teeth at the man. "You're bluffing." He wiggles his ankle as he talks, and he's gratified to find that the binding loosens just a tiny bit.

"Am I?" The skeletal man grins, revealing multiple silver teeth that look like they've been sharpened. Deadlock were bad, but Los Muertos are fucking animals if this guy is any example, Jesse thinks. "You want to take a chance on that?"

Jesse is about to spit in his face, do anything to make it obvious he's not going to cooperate, but then he catches sight of the expression on Fareeha's face. She's staring at the gang member with something approaching defiance, not letting any fear show in her face. From that angle, she looks exactly like Amari.

"Okay, fine, I'll fuckin' tell you," Jesse says, mentally kicking himself. "Don't touch her again."

The gang member stands back upright, a grin slithering across his face. "Good choice. Don't take too long, or I'll kill her anyway, okay, _amigo_?"

Jesse glares at him. He's betraying himself, giving up his secrets like this, but he has to keep Fareeha safe. "I -"

Fareeha lets out a yell and smashes her head into the Los Muertos member's head, and the guy lets out a yell of pain, blood spurting from his nose. He staggers backwards and raises the knife, eyes blazing. " _Fuck_ , you little -"

The binding around his right ankle comes undone and Jesse smashes his foot into the gang member's side, sending him hurtling across the room and crashing headfirst into a stack of metal containers. He doesn't get up. Jesse's had a lot of experience in situations like this, and the first things he does is prise open his other ankle with his foot. Once he's broken both, he bends down, ripping the binding around his wrist open with his teeth. It takes him several tries, and by the end his mouth tastes of leather and sweat, but then his hand is free and he's able to rip the other one away too. He stands up instantly, going over to where Fareeha's still stuck in her chair.

"How the fuck did you know I'd be able to kick him from there?" Jesse asks, still in shock from her headbutt.

Fareeha shrugs. "Didn't."

Jesse stares at her. She's got bigger balls than half the guys in Deadlock. "Jesus," he says simply.

"Hurry up!" she says, ducking her head towards the restraints, and Jesse frees her of the tight leather. She stands up immediately, shaking her writsts. "Thanks. What do we do now?"

"We?" Jesse asks, rifling through the gang member's pockets. The guy only seems to be unconscious, but Jesse can still take his stuff. "No, _we_ don't do nothin'. I'm gonna get us outta here and you're gonna stay behind me, alright?" He picks up the knife and turns it over in his hands. It's not a throwing knife; he can't really do much with it.

Fareeha pouts. "Fine. What are you looking for?"

Jesse takes a second to reply as he clicks open one of the metal containers. Inside is a magazine lying beside an pulse rifle, one of those shitty new laser models. He takes it out, loading it as he says, "This. Stay behind me."

Jesse moves over to the dingy room's doorway, slamming his fist against a button with _OPEN_ scrawled on it in untidy marker. The door ratchets up slowly, and he winces at the noise it produces. The Dorado sun is harsh and Jesse squints to see a cluster of buildings in front of them, forming a sort of corridor that leads to a large spread-out area full of containers. Jesse can count at least twenty gang members from this vantage point alone; there's no way they're getting out unscathed that way.

"I got a plan," Jesse breathes to Fareeha, and her braids bob as she nods her head. "I'm gonna go out and cause a distraction. You stay here and when I'm gone you get away, okay?"

"No. That's a stupid plan," Fareeha hisses. "What about you?"

"I'll find a way out. It'll be easier by myself, honest. Done it before."

Fareeha glares at him. "You promise you'll be alright?"

Jesse nods, resisting the urge to laugh at her imperious gaze, somehow intimidating despite being several feet shorter than him. "Yeah."

"Fine," Fareeha says. "I'll wait in here."

Jesse wastes no time slipping out of the room, praying Fareeha's staying hidden as he makes his way round one of the buildings. He can spot several guys from here, and although the men down by the containers seem to be carrying guns he can only see knives on the gang members near him. Jesse shoots the nearest guy and there's a yell of shock when he slumps to the ground, and the cowboy readies himself.

"Come the fuck on then, _putas_!" he yells, and _runs_.

  
_________________________________

 

Gabriel and Ana are crouching near the Los Muertos operation when there's a gunshot, and Gabriel's head whips up to the encampment just above the operation, on a small hill. There's a lone figure standing there, in full view. He's wearing a hat.

"Come the fuck on then, _putas_!" someone shouts, and Gabriel recognises Jesse's voice. The figure on the hill, who he's certain is Jesse, starts sprinting away from the encampment and several shouts go up before the Los Muertos members drop what they're doing - literally - and start chasing after him, yelling venomous Spanish.

"Oh, fuck," Gabriel swears, and Ana makes a noise of utter disbelief behind him.

The Blackwatch commander stands and leaps forward, blasting the nearest gang member. Most of the guys in the operation turn to him and Gabriel starts to shoot, his shotguns taking down anyone within range. He can hear the thud of Ana's high-calibre rounds hitting the ones who are aiming to shoot him, and Gabriel loses himself in the fight, enemies blurring together until he's shooting and shooting and losing himself in the shrapnel and blood. He tries to push away the thought that he's potentially throwing away months of recon, allowing gang members to escape if they realise what's happening fast enough and decide to run rather than fight. The fight is over quickly, Gabriel shredding through his targets like a whirlwind, and Ana drops down by his side without making a sound.

"Come on," she says, and takes off towards where they last saw Jesse. He and his pursuers have disappeared further into Dorado, but none of them have Gabriel's SEP speed or Ana's natural agility. The sun burns Gabriel's black clothing but he ignores it, focusing on the run.

"Mama?" comes a voice, and Gabriel's heart jolts and he stops dead.

Ana gasps; with shock or relief, he can't tell. "Fareeha!" She runs over to her daughter, who's peering out of one of the buildings. It's a flat-looking warehouse. "Where is Jesse?"

"He went that way," she says, worry written into her expression. "He's trying to get me a chance to run away."

Ana stares at Gabriel. "Go," she says, and with the command Gabriel is off, sprinting, following the noise of gunshots filling the air.

  
_________________________________

 

Jesse has lost track of the number of men he's killed and they just keep coming. He's huddled behind a wall as cover, and he's on his second firearm after the first ran out of bullets. It's a sub with a dodgy trigger, and Jesse's walking on a tripwire by expecting it to hold up for him. He's nearly out of ammo.

He ducks to the side of the wall and looses a burst of bullets, catching someone in the chest, and they go down with a gurgling scream. Jesse fires again and the gun clicks.

"Fuckin' bullshit!" he curses as he attempts to shoot again and fails, and he tosses the gun to the side as he rolls back into cover to avoid the return salvo coming his way. The bullets thud into the ground where he was, and he swears again.

He hears footsteps and readies himself, and a gang member comes round the wall. Jesse lunges and smacks the gun away, and twists his wrist until the firearm is loose and Jesse smashes the hilt into the guy's head. There's a curse in Spanish and Jesse spins, firing towards the sound and downing another gang member. Someone comes at him from behind and Jesse dodges the hit, not fast enough to avoid the following punch, and his head rocks backwards as his tattooed attacker runs towards him. Jesse lifts the gun just in time and fires, hitting the man midlunge, rolling out of the way of the dead body that falls straight down, landing where he just was. He catches sight of another from the corner of his eye and spins, aiming the gun straight at their forehead and firing and then they jerk the gun upwards with inhuman reflexes and Jesse stares at Reyes as he grips his wrist, the shot going high above his forehead.

Reyes lets go and Jesse nearly jumps backwards, dropping the gun

"Jesus, you don't fuck around, do you?" is the first thing the commander says, and Jesse looks around through his panting. The ground is littered with bodies. A wave of exhaustion sweeps over Jesse.

"Is Fareeha okay? Have you found her?" he asks.

Reyes nods. "She's fine. Are you?"

Jesse frowns. "What? What... are you doing here?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

"It's my fault I got caught," Jesse says, brow creased. _Isn't it?_

"You're damn right it's your fault, and you might have blown a months-long recon op. But that doesn't mean I'll leave you behind. Blackwatch is a _team_ , and you're not on your own anymore, Jesse, understood?"

The teenager nods, looking down.

"Now, are you hurt?"

"No," Jesse mutters. "Fine."

Reyes grabs his hand, an angry welt already half-formed where the Los Muertos member injured his fingers. "What's this, then?"

Jesse tenses, trying not to wrench his hand away. "It's fine."

"I can see it's not fine, Jesse. What happened?" His tone is perfectly even but Jesse can almost feel the undercurrent of frustration running through it.

"Smashed my fingers," he muttered. "The guy holdin' us did, I mean."

Reyes examines his hand carefully, making Jesse feel like a lab specimen under a microscope; scrutinised and uncomfortable. "You could have a fracture. Ana can check you over. And what happened to your head?" He frowns, moving slightly closer.

Jesse rips his hand away, taking a step back from Reyes, eyeing him. "I told you, it's fine! I can deal with it on my own."

Reyes gives him a look. "You don't _have_ to anymore, Jesse, kid. That's the point. You need to accept help regardless of whether or not you're certain if you need it. If there's a chance you do, then _tell_ someone. Tell me. Tell Captain Amari. Tell Angela. Tell one of the other agents. I don't care who. But you're not alone anymore, and you're going to put yourself and your team at risk if you keep acting like you are. Tell me you understand."

"Yeah," Jesse mutters, face hot.

Reyes pauses. "I'm not telling you off. This isn't me disciplining you. I just need you to know that we're here for you." He pauses again, like he's about to make a gesture, but then he stiffens slightly and takes a breath. "Come on, kid. Let's get back to the others." He sets off, walking back towards the Los Muertos buildings.

Jesse follows.

When they get back to Fareeha and Amari, the twelve-year-old practically launches herself towards them. Fareeha slams into Jesse with a hug and he almost falls over, shock plastered on his face.

"I knew you'd be okay, but I'm still glad," she says pre-defensively, staring up at him and beaming.

Jesse relaxes into the gesture slightly, and puts his arms around Fareeha as well. "Good job not gettin' spotted," he says to her, and her smile grows.

A hand touches his shoulder, and Jesse looks up to see Amari staring at him. "Thank you," she says, tone quiet. "Thank you for keeping her safe."

Jesse takes a step back, and rubs his neck as he wills his face not to turn red. "Uh, it's okay, ma'am."

"Call me Ana," she replies, smiling. She puts an arm around Fareeha and squeezes slightly.

Reyes nods at Jesse, and shoots him a grin. "Come on. Let's go find the dropship."

"How?" the teenager asks.

"It's over there," Fareeha interjects, pointing.

Jesse, along with Reyes and Ana, turns to follow her finger. Indeed, half of the ship is visible from behind one of the buildings at the other end of the camp, below the ridge they're standing on. It's looking significantly worse for wear. He gives Fareeha a stare, and she shrugs.

"A bunch of them came from over there. I figured it was something important, and then... they all followed you so I went to look."

Ana gives her a sideways glance. "That was dangerous, Fareeha."

"But I did it!" the younger Amari protests. "Nobody saw me."

"That's not the point," Ana begins, but Fareeha gives her a glare before she can continue and starts walking off towards the dropship. Ana lets out a sigh, looking upwards, before she sets off.

"Come on, kid," Reyes says, and follows Fareeha's path across the now-silent Los Muertos camp.

Jesse knows how gangs work. When Deadlock suspected someone was onto one of their bases, they'd clear out completely and erase every trace. Failing that, they'd run from a compromised base. Jesse knows many of the Los Muertos members probably ran from the site after his stunt, and he's wasted all the investigation Reyes said Blackwatch has done. It's a logical next step to expect the commander to be severely pissed off.

He doesn't seem to care, though. It's almost like Reyes is... invested in him somehow.

"Wait," Jesse says suddenly, and Reyes stops.

"What?" he asks.

Jesse gives Reyes a long look. "Why do you care about me? Like... I dunno, takin' me on missions personally. Trainin' me. You ain't doin' that with anyone else."

Reyes pauses, turning fully to face Jesse. It takes a few moments before he sighs, and says, "Look, kid, I know you're intelligent. I'm not going to insult you by lying. You... hah, I was going to try and avoid this for as long as I could. Truth is you remind me of myself."

Jesse frowns. "What?"

"I was in a gang at your age. Didn't start as young as you, but... someone took me out before I got too deep and gave me a second chance to get things right." Reyes gestures to the dropship below them. "I took the chance and did this."

"What does that have to do with me?" Jesse asks.

The commander tilts his head slightly, and shrugs. "I'm giving you your second chance. You just need a bit of help to be able to use it."

Jesse goes silent, assessing Reyes with narrowed eyes.

"Come on, kid. We need to get back in contact soon, or they're going to send a search party out."

"Sure, _jefe_ ," Jesse says, and Reyes smirks at him before starting to head to the dropship. The cowboy follows. "One more thing," he says as they walk.

"Go ahead," Reyes answers.

"Bastard that kidnapped us might have stolen my gun."

Reyes shrugs. "I'm not even sure why we kept that thing around, it's so old. Don't sweat it, kid, I'll find you a new one."

Jesse gives him a grin, and they reach the dropship together just as Ana manages to get the power restored, Athena greeting them as they enter.

Jesse straps himself in beside Fareeha, who promptly shifts to let her head settle on his shoulder. Reyes is opposite him, Ana smiling from diagonally across, and Athena's voice is strangely familiar as she announces the liftoff protocols. Emotion he hasn't felt in a long time - peace, familiarity - forms inside Jesse. Somehow, despite himself, he's managed to find a sort of equilibrium here. Maybe Blackwatch isn't as bad as Deadlock, after all.

He'll just have to wait and see.


	17. The IKEA Gnome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's not dead yay
> 
> i realised it's been so long since i updated that my last authors note was about moira and now we have brigitte oops
> 
> in other news though my break from writing paid off and i managed to pass my exams! c: hopefully i'll be able to get another chapter out this month although i say that every time so
> 
> all your comments and kudos give me such motivation and happiness, i'm so glad you like this fic! please remember to leave a couple of kudos if you're enjoying, and maybe comment whatever you think - even if it's just to shout out a typo. ;)

Two days after Jesse's returned from his Los Muertos experience, Reyes sends him a message.

 _GABRIEL REYES: You free at three this afternoon?_  
GABRIEL REYES: I mean, I control your schedule, so yes, you are.  
JESSE MCCREE: What now?  
GABRIEL REYES: Since you managed to lose your gun, and I'm still not sure how you did  
GABRIEL REYES: I've set up a meeting with the Overwatch gunsmith to get you a new one.  
JESSE MCCREE: Not a shitty one from the training wall?  
GABRIEL REYES: Not a shitty one from the training wall. You're an official agent now, and an official agent needs an official gun.  
GABRIEL REYES: So come to my office at three, alright?  
JESSE MCCREE: Yeah, sure.

To his own surprise, Jesse resolves to be there on time. He'd otherwise try and annoy Reyes by turning up late, but if it's getting him something useful he might as well be there. He tries to recall ever meeting the Overwatch gunsmith, but he doesn't remember anyone matching; if he's the same guy who made those old guns in the training range, Jesse is going to have something to say to him about those shitty pulse rifles.

His comm buzzes again, and Jesse looks down to see someone else entirely texting him.

_ANA AMARI: Hi Jesse!_

Jesse frowns, staring. Ana doesn't usually message him, and he doubts the informal greeting is her style. He taps out an uncertain reply.

 _JESSE MCCREE: Hi._  
ANA AMARI: It's Fareeha. You want to get lunch now? I have something to ask you!!!  
JESSE MCCREE: Sure. Be at the mess in five.  
ANA AMARI: Ok!

Jesse clips the unit onto his belt and resecures his hat, heading out of his room. It's one of his rare down time sessions, a period of free time each day to grab lunch and prepare for the afternoon's round of training. Jesse normally goes near the tail end of the hour, to avoid the huge influx of people that arrive as early as they can to eat. He's not accustomed to large crowds, and it still freaks him out slightly to see so many faces in one place. If Fareeha wants to go now, though... Jesse shrugs. He'll go now.

It doesn't take him long to reach the mess, and Jesse cringes as he enters. The noise is oppressively loud, what feels like hundreds of near-shouted conversations overlapping and blasting into his ears. He scans the tables quickly, and spots Fareeha's dark braids behind a cluster of Blackwatch agents. Jesse goes through the usual motions of getting lunch, piling his plate with food (he's still not used to the constancy of the meals in Blackwatch) and sits down opposite her.

Fareeha beams. "Hi!"

Jesse grins in return, eyeing her; he's not sure what's caused her stellar mood, but it's always nice to see the kid happy. "What's up?" he asks.

She looks him straight in the eye, shifting slightly in her chair. "I have something to ask you but you have to promise to say yes and also I'm only asking you after I've told you my other news," she says, somehow merging all the words into one sentence, and Jesse raises an eyebrow.

"I ain't promisin' anythin' until I know what it is, 'Reeha. What's the news?" he asks.

She beams, and leans closer to him. "I applied to a summer camp a while ago and I got in! It's for the best soccer players only, and they picked me!" The kid is almost vibrating with excitement, and Jesse gives her a genuine grin.

"Hey, nice," he tells her, and holds up his hand for a high-five. Fareeha returns the gesture enthusiastically.

"I'm so exciiited," she says, holding on the vowel for longer than normal.

Jesse smiles again, taking a forkful of pasta.

"Anyway. Jesse." Fareeha says suddenly, tone switching to a businesslike imitation of her mother.

"Yeah?"

"Can you teach me how to shoot?"

Jesse nearly chokes on his food, and he stares at Fareeha. "What?"

The girl raises an eyebrow, grinning. "Can you teach me how to shoot? 'Cause you're so good, and -"

"No way," he interrupts. "Your ma would kill me."

Fareeha pouts, sagging slightly in her chair. "It's so unfair! Just 'cause I came on the dropship, she's not letting me do anything. And -"

That's when Ana appears at the corner of Jesse's vision, bearing a tray full of food, and sits down next to Fareeha. The girl gives her a glare, and immediately stands up and storms out of the dining room. Ana sighs.

Jesse gives her a look. "What's up with you two?"

Ana casts her eyes skywards for a second. "Fareeha is angry I tried to keep her out of the way of Los Muertos. She insists she's old enough to handle herself."

"Is she?" Jesse asks. When Ana frowns, he shrugs. "I dunno what age that is. Usually."

The captain sighs, and picks up her cutlery. " _Not_ hers. She's only twelve. I worry about her sometimes. Growing up here... it's the only way I can see her for any meaningful periods of time, but... I don't know. There are some dangerous ideals here for a young girl." Ana drifts into thought, seemingly looking at a space just above Jesse's elbow.

Something occurs to Jesse then, a random thought he's been pondering over since he spotted Reyes being all... _playful_ and weird with Morrison in his office.

"What's the deal with Morrison and Reyes?" he asks.

Ana raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know, like... the way they act when they think nobody's lookin'. All gentle, and then in public... fuckin' hardasses," Jesse mutters, and Ana lets out a chuckle at the insult.

"The commanders are both idiots, really, and they think they can keep their relationship secret." Ana shrugs, smiling. "I don't think either of them realise that quite a few people know."

Jesse frowns. "Relationship?"

Ana nods, coating a fry in so much ketchup it makes Jesse's eyes water. "Mm. They've been 'secretly' engaged for a while now."

"Wait, engaged like..." Jesse stares at her. "Like boyfriends?"

"I suppose," Ana says.

Jesse just keeps staring, shock running through him. "They... they're allowed?"

Now it's Ana's turn to stare, and her piercing gaze switches up to focus on Jesse's face. "Sorry?"

"How're they allowed to do that?" Jesse repeats. "You ain't... you ain't meant to like other guys."

Ana's face tightens. "Who told you that?"

Jesse looks down. Even now he's been fully inducted into Blackwatch, it's hard to talk about Deadlock. Something in him, though, is convinced he can trust the captain. So he pushes down his reluctance, and speaks. "I, uh... I used to know this guy who was into other guys, and then they found out, and..." He mimes a finger gun, and Ana's expression turns horrified.

"I am so sorry, Jesse," she says quietly, putting a hand on his arm. Jesse can't avoid the way his body stiffens at the touch. "I am so sorry you saw that, but... they were wrong. So wrong. There are no rules for liking people, or... or anything else. You can be whoever you want to be, and you can... ah." Ana trails off, pressing her lips together, and shakes her head.

Jesse eyes her. "You promise, huh?"

Ana nods, eyes gleaming with something sharp. "I swear on my daughter's life," she says, staring at Jesse.

There's a moment of stretched-out tension between them then, and as they lock eyes Jesse retreats slightly and lets out a laugh. "Don't think she'd like you sayin' that right now," he says, trying to diffuse Ana's serious gaze.

Ana sits back, sighing. "Yes. Well, she'd better stop sulking soon or I'll have to tell her father."

"Father?" Jesse says, frowning. "He here too?"

Ana waves her fork. "No. We're separated, and he lives in Canada. Fareeha's going back in a week or so after the New Year."

"Back to _Canada_?" Jesse asks, incredulous. He's heard of it before, even with his abominable lack of geography knowledge; it's north of America, and surprisingly untouched by omnics. He remembers Colt complaining about how they escaped mostly unscathed from the first Crisis.

"She has to go back to school, Jesse. Did you think she just stayed here with me all year? On a military base?" Ana asks, looking amused.

"No," Jesse mutters, face hot. He takes his tray up abruptly, feeling stupid, and mutters a goodbye before he stalks straight out of the dining room. He doesn't like being made to feel stupid, no matter if it's Colt or Reyes or Ana, and it's deflated his mood immediately and irreversibly. The conversation from a couple of weeks ago, Fareeha telling him about Vancouver, comes back to him; the feeling of idiocy strengthens as he realises he already knew she was going back.

_You ain't bein' stupid, are ya, boy? You know what that gets ya._

"Fuck off," Jesse hisses, trying to banish the thoughts in his head that sound like his old leader, wishing he could meet the guy again face-to-face and repay him for all he's done.

Jesse likes guys. He's never really understood how the guys in Deadlock used to be into skinny girls with big boobs and revealing clothing. He _knows_ how he feels is wrong, that it's a fundamental flaw in his nature. Colt made it clear when he killed Da Silva for flirting with some random civilian. His ma used to tell him stories of his dad, not another woman. Jesse knows two guys can't make a baby. So he's been pushing down that part of him for years, where not even he knows how to reach it.

But now Ana is telling him that yeah, it's okay, and that apparently Reyes and Morrison are together. Like _that_. Jesse can't make the two philosophies resolve themselves in his head.

"Kid," comes a voice, and Jesse turns to see Reyes coming up behind him.

"I was just going to meet you in my office. Since I've caught you here, though, we might as well go now. That suit you?" the commander asks, clear it's not really a request.

"Sure," Jesse shrugs.

Reyes starts walking again beside Jesse. "This guy is one of the best weaponsmiths I've ever worked with. He was in the original Overwatch with me."

Jesse asks, "You were in that?"

"I _led_ it," Reyes says, a hint of wistful pride in his tone, glancing sideways at Jesse. "I really need to restart your lessons again don't I? Anyway," he prompts himself, "he made my shotguns for me. Specially." Reyes lets his hand drift to one of the twin firearms strapped to his thighs.

Jesse nods. "Cool." He eyes the sleek weapons, part of the powerful aura that surrounds Reyes permanently.

"Right here," Reyes says, turning the corner down a slightly dim corridor Jesse hasn't been in before. The Watchpoint is quieter here, away from the bustle of the main section. Jesse frowns as Reyes draws to a halt and knocks on one of the doors along the hallway, a windowless white door with signs in both English and a language Jesse doesn't recognise plastered all over it.

"Who is it?" comes a loud voice from inside, strongly accented and grumpy.

"Gabriel," Reyes says, equally loudly, and glances at Jesse. "Don't mention his height," he adds quietly, and Jesse frowns before the door opens and a small man in grubby overalls glares up at them.

"Dwarf," blurts Jesse, then slaps his hand over his mouth because _goddamnit_ why the fuck did he say that?

The gunsmith raises an eyebrow, looking Jesse up and down. "Got a mouth on him, hasn't he?" His accent is by far the strangest Jesse's ever heard, a mixture of harsh consonants and lilting tone.

Reyes smirks. "Definitely does," he answers, and Jesse's face flushes as Reyes walks past the engineer to enter his workshop.

"Sorry," he mutters, following the Blackwatch commander inside the room. It's filled with clutter, from metal to plastic to paint to weapons. Jesse can barely see the surfaces beneath the piles of crap on them.

The miniature engineer waves a hand. "Nah, it's fine. So why are you here?" he asks, busying himself tidying the workbench he's standing beside. Or, at least, the intention seems to be tidying; in reality he's just tossing bits of scrap around, clearing a small space.

"Jesse needs a gun," Reyes says.

"This little whelp? This one? Yer giving him the gun? Helvete, they're getting so young," the gunsmith mutters, sending a slightly crumpled piece of metal skittering across the workbench.

"Torb," Reyes prompts.

"Yeah, yeah, what does he want?" he grumbles.

Reyes turns his head to Jesse, and the teenager does a double-take.

"You want me to-?"

"Kid, it's your gun. It has to fit you and your style, and I don't know it as well as you do."

"Oh," Jesse says, trying to think.

"Torbjörn Lindholm, by the way," the gunsmith announces, sticking out a hand grubby with oil.

Jesse shakes it hesitantly. "Jesse McCree."

"Text me when you're done and I'll come back to test it with you," Reyes says to Jesse.

"You ain't stayin'?"

Reyes shakes his head. "Nah, kid. These designs can take hours that I don't have. Thanks again for this, Torb," he adds, looking at the engineer.

Torbjörn waves a hand. "Don't worry about it. As long as yer paying for my flights I don't care."

Reyes leaves with a nod and a smirk, and Jesse's left alone in the dimmed room with Torbjörn, who immediately switches his attention back to the cluttered workbench.

"Now where in hell is my wrench?" the Swede mumbles, rummaging in a toolbox below the workbench.

Jesse's at a complete loss for words, and finds himself staring at the engineer. Even ignoring his height, the man is peculiar to say the least. He's covered in grime from head to toe, wearing baggy, half-on clothing and is sporting a huge beard entwined in _plaits_. Jesse's never seen anything like it. His left arm is mechanical, a rusty-looking design with a clear tube running from his wrist to the upper arm, and he's missing his right eye.

"Ahh, there you are, _skönhet_!" Torbjörn suddenly exclaims, like he's forgotten Jesse's still there. He produces a wrench from inside the toolbox, holding it up in a victory pose. "We can get started now. Just let me..."

He trails off again and bustles to the other side of the room, grabbing a discarded bit of paper and a pencil. Smoothing the wrinkled paper out on his stomach, he walks back over.

"Alright," he begins. "Go."

"Go... go what?"

Torbjörn shoots him a look. "Tell me what you want."

"I don't know what I want!" Jesse protests. "I only knew this was happenin' like a couple hours ago."

Torbjörn lets out a groaning noise. "Reyes always sends me the idiots. Okay," he says, louder, "how do you fight?"

Jesse stares at the irate gunsmith. "I got a gun. Revolver. Uh..."

"Dual? Single? How many bullets?" Torbjörn fires off.

"I'm fine usin' either, but I usually have a six-shooter," Jesse replies.

"How's yer aim?"

"Good," Jesse says, firmly, and Torbjörn hums.

"Always be better, can't it?" he mutters, scribbling something on the paper. Jesse peers at it, seeing a rough design taking shape. "Left or right?"

"Huh?"

"You slow? Left hand or right hand? _Min Gud_ ," he says rapidly, clearly exasperated.

Jesse narrows his eyes. "Left. And I ain't slow."

"Whatever," Torbjörn mumbles. "Got any preferences for style?" He eyes Jesse then, scanning him up and down, and seems to come to a conclusion in his head. "I got it. You can go do whatever else you want to be doing now. Come back in... I don't know, an hour."

Jesse frowns. "You can make a gun in an hour?"

"Hah. I can make it in half if I got another pair of hands," Torbjörn boasts, clearly proud.

Jesse smirks. "I ain't got anywhere to be," he says.

Torbjörn sizes him up for a moment. "Fine. Come here and don't touch anything," he tells Jesse.

He turns to grab an armful of metal, and no sooner has his back turned then there's a colossal crash, and Torbjörn spins to see Jesse cringing away from a landslide of spare parts.

" _Helvete_ , boy!" he swears, shaking his head. "Carry this."

Torbjörn shoves a couple of pieces of steel into Jesse's hands unceremoniously, grabbing his paper and bustling out of the room. Jesse follows him and they cut across the corridor, into a room with several hazard signs on the front. He tries to read them, but they're not in English.

"No use trying to decode that unless you know Swedish," Torbjörn remarks, pushing open the door to reveal something straight out of medieval times.

"Is this a fuckin' forge?" Jesse asks, staring in disbelief at the scratched anvil, the piles of metal, the molten scrap inside the huge furnace in the corner.

"Old school," Torbjörn confirms. "Don't want anything being taken over by the tin cans, do we?"

Jesse frowns. "You mean omnics?"

Torbjörn stops then, turning to look Jesse directly in the eye. "They're made of metal, boy, don't forget. Think of it like a human and yer a fool."

Jesse has no response; he's always been aware of anti-omnic sentiment, but Torbjörn seems to hold a deep hatred for them. Almost as fast as he stopped the engineer starts moving again, heading for the furnace. He taps something Jesse can't see and the room lights up, machines whirring into gear.

"Keep it all mechanical," Torbjörn yells over his shoulder. "Bring the scrap over here."

Jesse walks over and dumps the metal where Torbjörn is pointing, before he grabs a hammer and one of the pieces and shoves it into the forge. It turns red-hot in seconds and the engineer starts hammering it into shape, his hand moving surprisingly quickly.

"You do all this for everythin' you make?" Jesse asks.

Torbjörn grunts. "Nah. Invented a bunch of quick builds for turrets and that. Just put 'em on the ground and hit 'em a couple of times and they'll pop up quick. For decent weapons, though..." he adds, shifting the metal around and putting the other end into the blazing heat, "yer gonna have to put a bit of effort in."

They spend about twenty minutes creating the parts for Jesse's gun, Torbjörn sending him to collect all manner of items. Some of the smaller bits, like the intricate insides, they cast out of pre-existing molds. Others are hammered into shape from scratch by Torbjörn, with Jesse trying his hand at one.

" _Helvete_ , boy, give it back!" Torbjörn grumbles, and Jesse hands him back the hammer, trying not to laugh. The metal is half-warped and _definitely_ not the right shape.

Eventually, though, they get all of it done, and Torbjörn takes all the bits in a tray to another room. Jesse's told not to follow, as he only has one fume mask. Jesse assumes that means he's going to be handling paint or something, though he's not sure why that means he needs a gas mask. Several of the guys in Deadlock used to paint their bikes straight up, no protection at all. Or, more accurately, they used to get the younger members like Jesse to do it for them. The teenager returns back to Torbjörn's main workshop while the gunsmith handles the final jobs, and he's only swinging his legs idly for a few minutes before Torbjörn enters and Jesse looks up, carrying the now-painted components in the tray. What looks like a pen-torch is there too, and Jesse eyes the disassembled parts.

"You know how to assemble one of these?" he asks.

Jesse nods. "Been practisin' all my life."

Torbjörn grimaces, but continues. "This one's got a couple of special features. I'll show you how it's done."

The gunsmith proceeds to assemble the revolver quickly, Jesse marvelling at how deft his hands are despite his grubby, lethargic appearance. He slots in a couple of extra bits, explaining as he goes, showing Jesse methodically. There's some sort of laser aim assist that he insists 'will make sense when it's used', and the frame has a spur attached to the end. The whole thing's been spray-painted black, save for the silver spur. Jesse takes it in his hands, mouth open in awe. He's never had anything this high-tech or good-looking.

"Happy?" Torbjörn asks, a slightly lighter tone to his voice.

Jesse breathes, "Fuck yeah. Thanks."

The gunsmith chuckles. "Better text Reyes, then. We'll go test it."

Jesse pulls out his comm and sends the commander a quick message, getting a near-instant response in return. It suddenly occurs to him that if Reyes spends this time with all the Blackwatch agents it's no damn wonder he's so busy. _Must be exhausting_ , he thinks.

Something flutters to the ground and catches Jesse's eye, and he looks up to see a piece of paper Torbjörn's dislodged in his rummaging on the floor.

"Uh..." he starts, picking up the sheet, about to tell Torbjörn when he sees drawing on the paper. It's a rather crude rendering of a pissed-off looking cat with some kind of... what looks like a _jetpack_ on its back. Jesse laughs, delighted. "The hell is this? You got a cat, Torb?"

Torbjörn twists round. "What? Oh, that." He snorts. "My daughter Brigitte. Hasn't learnt the realism side of our trade yet, hah."

"She's pretty shit at drawin', though," Jesse quips.

"She's three years old," Torbjörn says, and Jesse's mouth drops open.

"You're shittin' me."

"Nope," Torbjörn answers, a grin on his face as he turns back round. "Don't tell the others, but she's my favourite kid."

Jesse laughs again. "Holy shit. I take it back, she's talented as fuck."

Torbjörn chuckles to match Jesse and then they're both gone, laughing uncontrollably.

"Fuckin'... jetpack cat," Jesse chokes out.

Torbjörn slaps his leg. "She kept trying to put it on him and now he hasn't gone near her for a week," he says, making Jesse laugh even more.

"Agent McCree," comes a voice and Jesse jolts, going silent. Torbjörn looks up. Reyes stands in the doorway, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised. "You having a good time?"

"Sorry, _jefe_ ," Jesse says, trying his best to look contrite. He's probably not supposed to be enjoying himself, after all, in the minds of these military hardasses like Reyes.

The commander steps further inside, noticing the sheet of paper in Jesse's hand. "Is that the gun design?" he asks.

Jesse shakes his head. "It's, uh..." he begins, trailing off when Reyes takes the paper and stares at it for a second. For a moment, his expression remains neutral.

"Fucking jetpack cat," Reyes curses, grinning, and then Torbjörn's off again and Jesse and Reyes are laughing too, in a way Jesse's never laughed before while sober.

Damn, it feels good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing grumpy torb but the umlaut every time damn
> 
> also i've set up a ko-fi account! there's absolutely no obligation but if you're feeling generous, a lil coffee would help me out so much. thank you all! https://ko-fi.com/blackwatchandromeda


	18. TBS

Jesse stands in a small training room, gripping the new revolver. The handle is angled and firm-edged, nothing like the well-worn grips he's used to. It fits snugly in his hand, though, and his fingers lock around it comfortably. There's an array of silent bots in front of him, called up by Torbjörn. This room is smaller than the big range, and it's more static; Jesse's looking through one wide viewing window he can shoot through, instead of actually running around in the range. Reyes stands next to him, arms crossed, watching.

"You ready?" Torbjörn calls gruffly.

Jesse nods. "Sure," he answers, eyes fixed on the bots. There's a click and they come alive, starting to move and whirr. Jesse tracks them closely.

"Alright," Torbjörn hums, walking over. "Take 'em out slowly first, get used to it."

Jesse aims and fires, the gun steady in his hand as the bot in his sights collapses. He shoots again, hyper-aware of the decreased recoil. The gun is lighter than his Deadlock one, and much more comfortable than the old Blackwatch six-shooter. He grins as another bot goes down, and Torbjörn lets out a satisfied-sounding grunt.

"Good. Now this..." he starts, reaching up to the gun and pressing something on the bottom. Jesse inspects it as Torbjörn continues, "Laser sight. Should help you aim, although it's counterproductive for stealth. Turn it off if you don't need it."

Jesse raises an eyebrow, aiming at the closest target. He can see a small, bright dot on its chassis, a tiny pinprick he wouldn't see if he wasn't looking for it. "Nice," he says, and fires. The bullet slams into the bot exactly where the light was.

Reyes nods. "Thanks, Torb. Appreciate it."

"Hah," the engineer snorts. "Just make sure he doesn't break it and we're even. It's one of my better ones. There anything else you need me for or am I allowed to go back now?"

Reyes chuckles. "There is, actually." Torbjörn frowns grumpily, but the commander continues. "We recovered several weapons from Mexico last week. None of the shitty engineers here can tell me what's going on with them."

"Go on," the gunsmith says, sounding slightly suspicious.

"They're in your holding bay right now. Have some fun, do whatever the hell you want with them, alright? Just tell me how they work and you can use them for whatever."

Torbjörn grins widely. "Knew there was a reason I liked you, Reyes," he says, before he reaches up to clap Jesse on the shoulder. The teenager stumbles slightly, unsteady, and Torbjörn walks off briskly.

"You happy?" asks Reyes once the engineer has left the room, and Jesse grins.

"Fuck yeah," he says.

The commander's smile widens. "Most people here have customised weapons. If you ever need an upgrade, talk to me and we'll get it sorted."

Jesse frowns. "Isn't that expensive? There're a fuckload of people here, aren't there?"

Reyes frowns momentarily, like Jesse's caught him out for a second. "We usually take the cost out of their pay. You don't get a salary as you're an asset, so it's on Blackwatch."

"Oh," Jesse says. "What if I need to buy somethin'?"

Reyes shrugs. "Just let me know. Anyway," he adds, changing the subject, "now you've got a gun I'm putting you in the TBS this afternoon."

Jesse just looks at him, raising an eyebrow. "The fuck's TBS? Sounds like a fuckin' disease."

"It does, doesn't it?" the commander agrees, smirking. "It's a Training Battle Simulation. Two strike teams go into the training range and fight in a randomly generated environment until one is eliminated. Since you put Mina in medical for several weeks in Route 66, you're going in as her replacement."

"What?" Jesse blurts. "Her team? They ain't gonna cooperate with me."

Reyes sighs. "Look, kid," he says reluctantly, and Jesse glares at the nickname, "I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. You're the new meat. You hurt them and their friends. Most of the other agents are going to hate you right now, but they'll get over it. Work through it, show them your worth, wait until some other fucker joins up, and you'll be part of them soon enough. Just ride this bit out, alright?"

Jesse scowls. "Fine. When is it?"

Reyes checks his watch. "A couple of minutes. You remember where your locker is?" he asks, and Jesse nods. "Good. You'll find a set of chest armour there. I'm assuming you know how to put weave on?"

"Yeah," Jesse says. Colt had a stash of pieces of it back in Deadlock, and Jesse had a small, flimsy torso weave for a couple of years. It's special, that kind of armour, metallic plates interlocking to make the defence as strong as possible.

"Cool. It's yours, alright?" Reyes tells him. "You'll be needing it for missions in the future."

"Anythin' else?" Jesse asks.

Reyes shakes his head. "Your team leader will have comms units and training bullets, and you already have your gun. You shouldn't need anything else for one TBS; you won't be using grenades on friendlies, even if it is meant to be realistic."

"A'ight," Jesse drawls, flipping his new gun on his finger. _This is gonna fuckin' suck_ , he thinks. "See you then, _jefe_."

"One more thing," Reyes interjects quickly, and Jesse gives him a flat look. "You're part of a team today, kid. Listen to your leader. The team comes first."

Jesse scowls. "Fine," he says reluctantly, before he turns and walks out of the room.

\- - - - -

When Jesse gets to his locker, there are roughly ten or eleven Blackwatch agents already there. They're having a loud conversation that looks like it's getting rowdy, and Jesse can see a couple of them clipping armour on and checking their firearms over. He takes a step inside the room, spurs clicking on the floor, and the room quietens as everyone looks around.

Jesse recognises Den, the asshole who fucked him over multiple times on the training course, as he lets out a sneering groan. "The fuck you here for?" he asks aggressively.

Jesse clenches his jaw. "Trainin'."

Den glares, and opens his mouth to say something before another man cuts him off. "Enough, Den," he says, authority in his voice, and the bigger agent subsides into angry silence. "Call me Bourne," the new guy tells Jesse, nodding. "You're Mina's replacement, yeah? I'm the leader of Echo."

"McCree," Jesse mutters, feeling the weight of the other agents' stares.

"We all know who you are, asshole," Den spits.

"Calm the hell down, Den," comes a lazy voice, and Jesse sees Sangre leaning against the lockers opposite him. He didn't notice her before, but now her smirking presence is controlling the room. "The kid did some big bad gang shit. Most of us have, including me. So just relax."

"Yeah, well, no one likes you either, Sangre," says another agent, grinning.

Sangre rolls her eyes, flipping him off. "Fuck off already, Monroe," she tells him, but she's smirking.

Jesse casts his eyes around the room. Den is still glaring, while the guy Sangre called Monroe goes back to checking equipment. There are a few other people in the room, both men and women, that Jesse doesn't know. He assumes they're part of this exercise too. Sangre doesn't say anything else, just raises an eyebrow at Jesse as she watches him, and Bourne makes a gesture. Jesse goes over to him, hat low on his head.

"Here you go. Team comms," the leader says, handing him a small piece of tech. Jesse slots it into his ear, trying to replicate the way Reyes fit it for him for the Los Muertos mission, and Bourne eyes it for a second before adjusting the position slightly. "That should be good. You got DPS armour?"

Jesse frowns. "What?"

"Light armour. Like... you got it on right now?" Jesse nods, gesturing to his chest, and Bourne inspects the material. "Yeah, weave's light. We use old gaming terms. So in one team you tend to get a healer, a tank, a couple DPS. Mina's a sharpshooter, definitely DPS, so it makes sense you're subbing for her in that class."

"Oh, right," Jesse answers, not understanding where the references come from but going along with Bourne's explanation anyway. "What are you?"

Bourne rolls his eyes. "I'm the healer. Yeah, I know it's not as glamorous as the other roles, but... it's what I'm best at, I guess."

Jesse shrugs. "Fair enough."

"Echo, we gonna flip or what?" comes a coarsely-accented voice. Jesse turns to see a stocky guy with a shaved head and crossed arms, and Bourne grins.

"Sure. Where's the coin?"

The guy takes an old-style cent out of his locker, giving it to Bourne. "Ladies go first."

"Get fucked, Fischer," he shoots back. Jesse suppresses a grin as Bourne flips it through the air, spinning several times before he slaps it onto the back of his wrist.

"I vote tails," Fischer announces, looking confident, and by this point everyone has turned to look at the two leaders.

Bourne takes his top hand away to reveal the cent sitting heads-up, and Fischer holds his hands up and grins wryly as the other leader chuckles. "Okay, fine, you got me this time. Bravo, let's go," he finishes, raising his voice and gesturing, and grumbling fills the room as half the occupants pick up their gear and slope out of the room. Bourne doesn't move and neither do Jesse, Sangre, Den (dammit), Monroe and one tall guy Jesse doesn't know.

"Alright," Bourne says. "We're going to go round and share our roles with the kid."

Jesse opens his mouth to protest against the nickname, but Sangre knows what he's going to say and beats him to it. "You look like you're barely eighteen, McCree, some of us have been fighting for longer than you've been alive. You're a kid." Jesse rolls his eyes; it probably won't help to let them know he genuinely has _just_ become an adult. "You know my name, but my role's tank. I've got to draw as many bullets as I can with my fuckload of armour," she tells Jesse, winking and gesturing to the clunky, plated protection covering her body. He grins back at her.

Monroe shrugs. "Guess I'll go. Name's Monroe," he introduces, nodding at Jesse. "Don't expect to see much of me though, mate, I'll be sniping from the top of the field as much as I can."

The one guy Jesse doesn't know follows next, a thickset man with skin darker than Reyes' and shockingly light grey irises. "Call me Adeyemi. I'm in charge of area denial and clearance."

"He does traps and shit, basically," Sangre chips in, and everyone laughs save for Adeyemi who's rolling his eyes and Den who's glaring at Jesse.

Suddenly, he interrupts, "If you fuck this mission up I'll end you, got it? Den. I'm DPS, and you better not steal my spotlight."

"Sure," Jesse says noncommittally, resolving to absolutely get more kills than this prick by the end of the training scenario.

Bourne widens his eyes at Sangre, who makes a face back at him. "And lastly I'm the principal healer, so make sure to fall back to me if you're shot nonfatally. Alright, everyone check your comms, then. Agent Bourne," he says, and Jesse hears him twice as the device in his ear activates.

"Agent Sangre."

"Agent Adeyemi."

"Agent Monroe."

"Agent Den."

"Agent McCree," Jesse offers, the title unfamiliar to him. Bourne seems to be satisfied everyone's communications are working right, and moves on.

"Fantastic. Okay, here's the strat for this week. Focus Yung to cripple healing, then Fischer to take out their tank and leadership. Monroe, I want you to pick Lí as fast as you can, or at least keep him busy for a while. If we can get their sniper out of commission that's one less thing to focus on. Sangre, you stick with me so I can keep healing. Adeyemi, keep us pushing forward so we can box them in tighter. Watch for Koya, you know she's going to try and get behind us. Den and McCree, once Yung and Fischer are down you've got free rein on who you target. Just make sure to stay alive, and if Sangre gets overwhelmed your priority is helping her. If you can, keep the team alive. Everyone clear?"

Everyone nods, and Jesse tries to sort out the strategy in his head, organising it into clear blocks. He fucking _hates_ working with this sort of team, the kind that want to stick together to stay alive instead of strike so hard they never have a chance to retaliate.

Bourne fishes out several packs of bullets from his locker, all with bright patches of green paint on them. He tosses them out to each member in turn, checking the label before throwing to the right person. He leaves Jesse for last via process of elimination before chucking him the bullets, and Jesse turns them over in his hand before opening the pack.

"They're training bullets with green paint in them. Like old paintballs," Sangre says.

Monroe shoots her an amused raised eyebrow. "He's not gonna know what paintballs are, Sangre, he's a kid. I mean, I barely know, I'm gonna be honest."

"I got no clue what paintballs are," Jesse tells Sangre, shrugging and grinning when she looks incensed. He flips open the pack and starts loading bullets into his new gun, slotting six in then flipping the gun and spinning the barrel. "Neat," he mutters.

Bourne surveys his team, all ready and geared up. "Alright," he says. "Let's get out there and win this TBS, got it?"

"Let's fucking do it!" Sangre whoops, and Echo sets off with Jesse trailing slightly behind, next to the Latina woman.

"I didn't know you were in this," Jesse tells her. "Were you gonna skip out on trainin' with me without even lettin' me know?"

Sangre nods. "Oh, yeah," she says unashamedly. "TBS is a hundred times more fun than that shitty obstacle course, even with you. Sorry, kid."

Jesse grins at her. "Betrayal stings, _pendeja_ ," he jokes, mood lightened by Sangre's easy companionship.

"Hey now, you know I'm not fluent in that shit," she protests, and Jesse rolls his eyes.

"I dunno why not, though! You're actually _from_ fuckin' Mexico, how come you don't speak _any_ Spanish?" he asks, still dumbfounded.

Sangre shrugs. "Eh. Don't really care enough, to be honest. Everyone speaks English anyway, so why learn anything else in the first place?"

Jesse shoots her a look. "Fair enough," he acquiesces, then grins. "Means I can insult you and you don't know what I'm sayin'."

"Fuck off," Sangre says, making a flapping gesture with her hand. "I'll know, trust me."

Jesse lets out a laugh, then holds up one of the paint bullets. "So how does this work?"

Sangre explains, "We shoot them. They shoot us. You get hit in a fatal position you're downed and out, and if you're injured anywhere you're barred from shooting until you get to Bourne. He'll take the paint off and then you're allowed to fight again."

Jesse frowns. "But what if you get... I dunno, shot in one arm or somethin'? You can still fight in real life."

"Guess it's to teach us every injury is bad. Just... remember not to get shot, and follow Bourne's tactics. If you follow him to the letter then even if you mess everything up it's on his head because it's his tactics," Sangre advises. "You get out of line and _then_ you fuck up, it's your fault."

"What happens then?" Jesse asks wryly, knowing full well what the answer is.

Sangre says, "You get put on supply until the next person replaces you. Be warned, it fucking sucks. You have to go around and collect orders and whatever shit from every Blackwatch agent in the base, and then you have to go out and get supplies specially because Reyes won't order it normally just so he can use it as a punishment which is a pain in the ass and fucking _sucks_ ," she groans, emphasising the last word in a way that makes Jesse think she has definitely been on supply multiple times before.

He laughs, but before he can reply the rest of them turn in to the training range. Jesse and Sangre bring up the rear. Bravo is already waiting for them, a group of six just like Echo. Jesse recognises Fischer, the leader, from earlier; he's their tank, from what Bourne said. He guesses the slim, mohawk-wearing woman with crossed arms and an unimpressed look is Koya, from how potentially fast she looks. The Asian woman currently strapping several white-filled canisters to her belt is presumably Yung, the healer. Jesse marks their faces in his mind, the three most important targets. Lí, the guy holding a lethal but sleek-looking sniper rifle, is Monroe's target; Jesse doesn't bother to memorise the rival sniper. He's already familiar with the man, anyway; he was Jesse's interrogator in the first few weeks in Blackwatch.

"Finally," Fischer says, mock-groaning. "Took you long enough. What were you doing, hiding?"

Bourne says dismissively, "Drafting a plan, actually, to beat you."

Sangre grins widely. "We're going to fucking crush you, Fish."

Jesse realises just how competitive these TBS sessions appear to be.

Koya seems to roll her eyes, foot tapping. "C'mon, let's get on with it," she says, and there are a couple of scattered nods around the room.

"Where's the Commander?" someone asks, and in that moment the door opens again and Reyes strolls in with perfect timing.

Jesse rolls his eyes. _Probably fuckin' planned it._

Every agent snaps to attention, bodies stiffening as they spring into disciplined military salutes. Jesse looks around somewhat surprised, and attempts to perform a lazy version of the gesture.

"At ease, agents," Reyes says, and everyone relaxes. "You all ready?"

"Sir, yes, sir," comes a near-synchronised chant from the agents all around him, and Jesse frowns at them. When the fuck was he told to do this?

Reyes grins. "Good. Alright, get into position so we can start."

Both teams scatter at the command, Echo congregating on one side of the blank room and Bravo on the other. Jesse goes after the former, and Sangre shoots him a questioning look.

"Seriously, kid, you got some serious balls not saluting him. I don't know whether to be impressed or fucking terrified for you," she whispers, and Jesse's frown deepens.

"I ain't never been told about any of that military shit," Jesse tells her, and she raises an eyebrow.

Before she can reply, though, Reyes' voice comes over the comms. "Alright, agents, this TBS is for Strike Team Bravo versus Echo. Respect the rules, follow your leader's strategies. Environment's coming up now."

The floor unfolds and reforms like before, and Jesse watches as several blocky shapes rise up all around, blocking his team's view of Bravo They provide lots of cover, but Jesse can also see several flank routes from his position.

"Have fun," Reyes says, amusement in his tone, and Jesse glares at the mental image he has of the man smirking. "We'll start in three."

Jesse checks the packs of ammo clipped to his belt.

"Two."

He tightens the straps on his chest armour.

"One."

He checks the gun, loaded and ready.

"Go!"

Echo springs into action immediately, Sangre striding forward with Bourne slightly behind her, and Den to the side. Jesse follows the trio, and Adeyemi brings up the rear. Monroe shoots out a grappling hook, latching onto the highest block within reach and climbing up, aiming his scope immediately. Jesse grips his revolver and Den hefts up his rifle, shooting Jesse a glare. The teenager flicks off the laser sight as Sangre does something to her weapon that clicks and whirrs, and Bourne grabs what looks like a grenade from his belt. He chucks it over Sangre's head and it disappears from sight before producing a cloud of smoke that blocks the enemy from all view. Jesse rolls his eyes; he's never relied on vision-impairing tricks like that, and for good reason. They're just as bad for both teams.

"Fuck!" comes a yell, and Jesse turns to see Monroe, perched high, stumble backwards slightly. There's a vivid splatter of orange paint on his shoulder, and he drops down to the ground before running to catch up with the rest of Echo.

"Lí's down," comes Reyes' voice, and Monroe grins toothily as he hurries over to Bourne.

The healer turns and nods at Monroe for a job well done before he takes one of the white containers and twists it open, shining the light it emits onto the paint on Monroe's shoulder. The orange seems to pale and Jesse stares as it fades to a cracked white. Monroe grins and shoots Bourne a thumbs up before grappling away again wordlessly. Jesse stares after him before there's a crack and he ducks low out of instinct.

"Contact!" Sangre yells, the silence broken, and suddenly gunfire fills the air as she hefts what looks like a shotgun in her hands, a little like the model Reyes has two of. Den's face twists with determination and he raises the rifle, firing.

Jesse catches a glimpse of someone out of the corner of his eye and spins, firing wildly on instinct. The shot goes wide and just misses Koya, who curses as soon as Jesse sees her. She aims a submachine gun at him and Jesse swears, rolling to avoid the splatter of orange that coats the wall behind him. Suddenly Adeyemi appears, gripping a pistol, and shoots once, twice at Koya. She fires a spray back and Adeyemi shoots again. Green blooms on her chest and she curses in a language Jesse doesn't recognise; the teenager turns to thank Adeyemi before he sees the spread of shots clustered around his own chest. Both are fatal blows.

"Adeyemi and Koya are down."

Adeyemi nods at Koya, smiling. "Well played," he says, and Koya rolls her eyes.

"Good job, I guess," she admits, giving him a grudging smile. She must notice Jesse watching the exchange, then, because she widens her eyes at him and jerks her head. "You're not out. Go fight."

Jesse turns his head to see the rest of Echo, just in time to see a canister fly towards the block of cover Monroe is perched on. It explodes on contact and orange paint splatters outwards, covering Monroe's legs and torso. He looks down, mouth open.

"For fuck's sake, Pierce, you prick!" he yells, indignant, and there's a distant shout from across the battlefield that Jesse doesn't catch.

"Monroe's down," Reyes interjects. "Keep focused."

Jesse sees Sangre, still with her shotgun and Bourne supporting her, and Den firing shots and ducking behind cover. The cowboy scrambles over, just in time to see Den cursing to himself.

"Goddamnit, I keep missing the fatal shots," he grumbles, slotting another magazine into his rifle roughly.

Jesse peeks over the low wall they're both behind, seeing Yung behind Fischer in an almost mirrored stance to Bourne and Sangre. He raises Peacekeeper and propels himself to standing, aiming and firing once before he nearly throws himself back down to avoid the barrage of bullets that fly his way.

"Yung is down," Reyes says, and Jesse grins to himself. _Fuck yeah._

Sangre yells, "Stop fucking hiding and take them out!"

Den shoots Jesse a glare before he lifts the rifle and aims above the barrier. He empties the clip into the other team, expression furiously intense, and hits one of the ones Jesse doesn't know.

"Hamilton is down."

Someone fires back and Den curses gruffly as he ducks back down, orange splattered across his rifle and arm. "Bourne, I need healing," he calls out, and the Echo leader turns and pulls out a canister.

He's distracted in that moment, though, and the other team capitalises. Jesse opens his mouth to shout a warning just as Fischer raises a bulky-looking gun that shoots a heavy slug at Bourne and hits him full-on.

"Shit," he curses, staggering sideways slightly, body covered in paint.

"Bourne is down."

Sangre looks sideways, an expression of confusion on her face, and Jesse shouts, "To your left!"

She spins sideways just in time to meet the other surviving Bravo face-to-face, and he shoots her straight in the chest.

"Fuck me," she complains.

"Sangre is down."

Jesse takes a breath, analysing the situation; it's just him and Den left against two Bravo members, and Den is wounded. He can't fight. Jesse _could_ take them on his own in the right situation. He glances at Den, who's currently looking incensed at Jesse's lack of movement.

"What the fuck are you doing?" he hisses. "Shoot, run, fucking hide, do something!"

Jesse lunges for Bourne's dropped canister, twisting it open like he saw the healer do earlier. "This is easier with two on two," he mutters, shining the light on Den's orange wounds. The other man looks shocked, but when the paint fades to white his gaze flicks to Jesse.

"We need to go, now," he warns, and shoots upright before sprinting away from the remains of Bravo back behind another cluster of cover. Jesse follows as fast as he can, dodging the slug Fischer sends towards him, panting as he huddles next to Den. "You got a plan? Any plan?"

Jesse pauses.

_The team comes first._

"Yeah," he says, an idea lighting in his mind.

_Keep the team alive._

"Follow my lead," Jesse tells Den, barrelling on when the older man frowns and looks like he's about to protest. "Shoot both when they're distracted, alright?"

"Wait -" Den starts, but Jesse is already dodging out of cover and sprinting towards where he knows Fischer and the other guy are. Their faces blanch when he vaults right past them, running in between them and past -

Pressure slams into Jesse's back and he stops, knowing it'll be covered in fatal orange paint. He turns to see Fischer and the other guy both staring in total confusion.

"McCree is down," Reyes announces, and Jesse could very well be imagining it but he can hear a shade of what the fuck in the commander's tone.

"The fuck? What was that for?" Fischer asks, staring at him. "You just got yourself killed."

Jesse takes a breath, trying to stall. _Come on, Den, you bastard, they're distracted_. "Worth it," he says, shrugging, and Fischer narrows his eyes.

"Oh, you little shit," he curses, and starts to turn before there's a burst of rifle fire and Den covers both Fischer and the other Bravo in green paint.

Jesse grins. "Told you."

"Fischer and Pierce are down. Win goes to Echo."

There's a whoop that Jesse can tell is Sangre, and Den nods at him as Fischer and Pierce slope off to rejoin the rest of Bravo on the sidelines.

"Nice job, kid," Den says, somewhat reluctantly, but gives Jesse a smirk.

The teenager grins at him with a matching expression. "Thanks for pickin' up on what I meant."

Den opens his mouth to say something else (to apologise for being such an asshole, Jesse hopes) but he's cut off by Sangre slapping him on the back as hard as she can.

"Guys, you won it! Fuck yeah!" she exclaims, and the rest of Echo appear, crowding round both Den and Jesse and shouting various things. Most of them are happy, though Monroe seems to be exclusively yelling trash-talk at the opposite team. Jesse sees Pierce giving him the middle finger from where Bravo are standing, and Monroe responds with a barrage of swearwords.

"And you know what I got last time?" someone is yelling, from beyond Jesse's sight (enclosed as he is by Echo), "Eight fucking six-packs! With that and yours we can have a real drinking party -"

"Did someone say party?" Sangre's voice chimes in. "Bravo-Echo drinking party?"

Fischer's low tone says something and then Sangre lets out a whoop, and suddenly the chatter increases hugely. Echo separates and Jesse takes in a breath, able to move again. Both teams start leaving and Sangre jerks her head towards them, reaching out to grab Jesse and bring him along.

"The hell's happenin'?"

Sangre grins at him. "We're going to drink our fucking faces off, that's what. And you're coming."

Jesse frowns. "What?"

"Alcohol, idiot. A shit ton of alcohol in one room."

Jesse's never had alcohol; in Deadlock, it was kept for the highest-ranking members exclusively. It's a little jarring to hear it's apparently freely available here.

"Pierce got a fuckton over his allowance smuggled in, you know?" Sangre continues, leaning over conspiratorially and slinging an arm around Jesse's shoulder. "You in?"

Jesse shrugs. _Why not?_ he reasons. "Sure."

Sangre grins at him and drags him faster to catch up fully with the others, moving together in one big clump towards their destination; Jesse guesses it's the rec room. He looks back at the door to the training room; it's closed, though he knows Reyes is still inside. Jesse expects him to come out at any second and join the group, with the rest of the Blackwatch agents, but he doesn't emerge. Something jostles him and Jesse finds himself shoved into the centre of the group, all chatting around him and throwing insults at each other in a strange show of affection.

When they reach the rec room, Pierce and a couple of others split off and return about two minutes later. Their arms are full of cans and bottles, and as they enter and set the drinks on the table there's a resounding cheer. Pierce throws Jesse a silver can, and when he catches it it's cold to the touch. He pries the lid open and it fizzes before Jesse takes a drink. Cold spreads down to his stomach, and the taste buzzes through him. It's really good, Jesse realises, and he drinks again.

He doesn't stop after the first can, feeling as good as he is now. He doesn't stop once he's finished the next one, and he doesn't protest against the bottle that's pushed into his hands after that. Jesse drinks, mind fuzzing over slightly with the effect of the alcohol, but he doesn't mind. He loses himself in the drink and the laughter and the camaraderie of the other agents that he's somehow stumbled into.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to leave a comment telling me what you think, i love all your feedback so much! <3


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